An Open Heart Is An Open Wound
by Kinthinia
Summary: "Soul-bonding is very special," his mother had said. "You can only do it once in your life so if you do it, make sure it's with someone special." Of course, three days later, Steve made his choice. Considering his history of relationships, he probably should have known it wouldn't be reciprocated.
1. Broken Crown

_"Soul-bonding is very special," his mother had said. "You can only do it once in your life so if you do it, make sure it's with someone special."_

 _"But what if they don't choose me back?" Steve had asked, thinking about his scrawny body and the way girls didn't look at him._

 _"You would be tied to them forever," his mother said gently. "That's why it's so important you make sure they're the one. Because they don't have to choose you too. And for some people, that's more than enough. To just simply be tied to one person."_

 _"It should be special shouldn't it, like what you and Dad had?"_

 _Sarah smiled tiredly. "Yes. But it doesn't always happen that way, for everyone." She ruffled Steve's hair affectionately. "Just make sure you're prepared, when you choose someone."_

 _Steve laughed. "I will, Ma."_

Of course, three days later, Steve made his choice. Considering his history of relationships, he probably should have known it wouldn't be reciprocated.

* * *

Steve woke, groaning with a pain that wasn't his. It was always there, a distant ache in his left arm that didn't truly belong to him. He ran his hand across his face, kicking his sweat-soaked sheets aside. The nightmares, again. He never could remember what they were about or even if they were his to begin with. He got up, pulling the sheets off his bed and shoving them into his washer. Outside, the sky was lit with pale lavender, readying itself for dawn. Steve stumbled into the kitchen, turning the coffee pot on before making his way to his bathroom. He showered quickly, washing the sweat from his body and chasing the residual pain away with a quick massage. The pain used to be worse, years ago. He'd actually gone in to see a physical therapist about what he could do to ease the pain, make it into something manageable. More than once, he'd wondered what exactly his bonded had or hadn't done to bring the pain back. It seemed to be happening a lot more recently.

The nightmares were infrequent but they were definitely haunting. He wasn't sure if they were his own or his bonded's. He supposed that they both had equal things in their past to contribute to the fear that would wake Steve from a heavy sleep. He thought it might have been worth it, in another world, with another person. In that world, he would be eased by the nightmares because he would be able to tell that he was relieving his partner from them instead. And in that world, in that place, where he and his lover were so closely connected, it wouldn't be as painful. Because he never knew if he was providing any relief to his bound partner. There was no two way street of communication. It was all Steve receiving and receiving. He didn't know what he had been expecting when he forged the connection between him and James Barnes. But he thought, for one single stupid moment, that if no one ever loved him at all, at least he could save someone else's life. Back then, he'd still been five foot two and barely one hundred pounds sopping wet. He was nineteen and he'd never been on a date with anyone. He thought, that at the very least, he'd be doing some good for someone else. It wasn't like you could blame someone for saving your life. Turns out, you could. And James had made that abundantly clear.

Soul-bonding was done by choice and it could only be done if the people making the bond had good intentions. That's all that was required. Men or women who wanted to control or possess their partner by having a deeper understanding, who professed that they wanted that understanding to help them, but inside had more insidious purposes, found that they not form a lasting soul-bond. There were sex workers who loitered in hospitals, waivers signed, and would willingly sell their soul-bonds to save other people's lives. Provided, that the person being saved had the necessary paperwork signed. When Steve saved James, he had done so with the sole intent of saving James' life and with the hope of maybe having a friendship afterwards. He didn't believe it would be possible for James to love him, but there had been a small spark of that very hope hiding with the rest of it. And it wasn't illegal to soul-bond someone who was dying, or unconscious, provided that person did not verbally reject it.

Steve had heard of claims of soul-bonding being possible between multiple people but most experts refuted it and the claimants always disappeared. According to the claims he had read, the sharing of multiple soul-bonds had been between several people fully in love with each other. They'd talked at length about how they'd spent years dating, trying to forge the bond but to no avail until one day, it just happened between all the people involved. It sounded like something more akin to soulmates because it had been a little involuntary, they had not been able to choose each other despite how badly they tried. Their soul-bonds had just failed. Cases of failed soul-bonds occurred when someone was already married, already bonded or when one of the parties lacked good intentions. That was the only explanation anyone could give when soul-bonds didn't take with the intended person. In the last few years, Steve'd gotten particularly interested in researching and learning what he could about soul-bonds. He knew though, that his bond with James, regardless of how poorly things between them were, was still permanent.

Steve dried off, pulling on clean sweat pants and one of the white fitted t-shirts Peggy loved to tease him about. He grabbed the newspaper and read through the political commentary, drinking his coffee. By the time he'd finished reading, his coffee was done and it was time for him to head to Glenmore Stadium. Steve only lived a couple blocks from it. Peggy was early of course, already stretching and getting ready for their morning run.

"Morning Steve," she greeted, bending over to stretch her calves.

"Morning," he greeted, copying her moves.

He'd met Peggy two years ago during his interview for Stark Industries. She'd been undercover at the time, as one of Stark's assistants. Steve had eventually gotten the job and while it wasn't as artistic as he would have liked, it kept food on the table and his mother's medical bills paid. But Stark's latest interest in developing prosthesis had left them in close proximity more than once, arguing over schematics and design flaws. Steve was an artist, not an engineer and Tony was an engineer, not an artist. It made for some challenging discussions. But Stark wanted all the output he could get and sometimes the recipients wanted more artistic or stylish designs. It was Steve's job to prepare for those demands and to illustrate manuals on how to take care of the prosthetic. Stark's job on the other hand was to take Steve's designs and make them work, which apparently proved to be quite difficult if not impossible at times.

It left him with plenty of time to get to know Peggy though, so it was worth it. Most of the time at least. These days, he and Tony had an arrangement to avoid each other as much as possible. Tony would have J.A.R.V.I.S. email back the designs that weren't working with a layman's explanation of why it didn't work; Steve would correct and make adjustments as needed and email it back. The less face-to-face interaction, the better it was for them. He still missed having Peggy around the office though. She had been a welcome distraction and a great supporter of his designs. It was easy to get discouraged when Stark could easily send Steve's design concepts back eight times in a row. J.A.R.V.I.S. made it easier, a quicker access of double checking for flaws Tony would have to spend hours poring over.

Steve ended up not going out with his friends, Sam and all the other guys, instead holing himself inside his house and spending all his free time working on designs. His work was important, for a good cause, certainly. But he had been close to burning out. The thing was, he just wanted his projects to be perfect. People were depending on him and this was work only he could do. And if he could learn and understand more about the bio-mechanics involved, it would make working with Tony easier. When he wasn't working on his projects, he started trying to learn what he could about the engineering that Tony talked about. And then Peggy started knocking on his door every morning at six o'clock. She made him run for an hour and a half every morning, whether he worked or not. And he hadn't even realized how stressed he had been until one day he wasn't. Also, there was the added benefit of exercise on top of the many medications he was taking. (His medication could only do so much for his physique, the rest was up to him to work out and develop the muscle mass). She never explained why she had started doing it, but he put together the answers himself. He took some time off from the designs and went out with Sam and the guys every weekend. And then, he started looking them over and found that his art block was gone. He hadn't even realized he'd run into one.

"How's work been?" Steve asked.

"The usual," she answered, raising her arms above her head. "Thompson's still determined to keep me as a desk agent." She snorted indelicately. "Sousa's been taking me into the field with him."

"Thompson must love that."

Peggy grinned. "He hasn't even realized it yet."

Steve chuckled. Thompson was her overworked sexist boss who thought Peggy should just be serving coffee and running the fax machine for them. He didn't sound like the smartest guy. "Well so long as you get some field time." Her last boss had seen her for the competent woman she was and sent her into the field, undercover as Stark's assistant.

"How's it been at SI?"

"We've got a new client," Steve admitted. "Another one of Stark's recipients and his family told us that for as much as he hates his prosthetic; he wants something that will serve as a weapon."

"That's different."

"Yeah," Steve agreed. "Stark's taking the lead on this one. I'm not sure what I can contribute exactly."

"You'll come up with something," Peggy said reassuringly. "You always do."

Steve smiled at her gratefully. Peggy's endless confidence in his abilities was just one of the reasons why he loved her so much. Not for the first time, he wondered how different his life would be if he had left himself with the choice of being bonded to someone else. Someone like Peggy. Peggy was one of the few people who knew the truth about his mark. Back when they'd started hanging out more often outside of work, he'd spent months agonizing over whether to ask her out or not. In the end, she'd asked him out. And he wasn't willing to lie about what he'd done, about his bonded, so when Peggy asked, he had told her. Peggy wanted that life for herself though, to be able to bond with someone and have them bond with her. Steve wished her the best of luck and they'd parted on amicable terms, settling into a friendship he never thought he could have.

Running was easy, at least. He didn't have to think when he was running. Peggy was always up for a challenge but she never complained about Steve's lagging pace. Dr. Erskine's medication was only good for so much -he'd started gaining muscle mass and the worst effects of his asthma were disappearing but it would take time. Dr. Erskine suspected it would take at least two or three more years for his asthma to dissipate completely. Steve couldn't complain about it either; any improvement in his health was welcome, no matter how slow or frustrating to attain. At first, he'd kept up with the rigorous demands of his training regime which involved him gaining thirty pounds of muscle in a month. It was awful. His lungs and stamina were both pretty weak though. And as soon as she learned that Steve was struggling, she took it upon herself to make him work to improve it. He was so grateful to Peggy.

"Are you ready for tonight's event?" Peggy asked, flashing him a grin.

Steve made a face and shook his head. He hated Stark's charity galas. As an employee he was expected to attend -and tonight the pressure was really going to be on because it was for war veterans. And many of those attending would be recipients whose prosthesis he had helped design or soon to be recipients if Stark had it his way. He appreciated the causes but Tony always found a reason to call Steve onto the stage to give a speech and on the few occasions Steve had managed to escape them, he'd still had to wait around and meet people and shake hands. It wasn't the worst thing in the world to do, but Steve hated having to stand and be hailed like he was some kind of a hero. These guys, these women, who served their country and lost friend or limb, they were the real heroes. Steve was just doing his part to help repay them. Maybe Tony saw it a bit differently, but the guy had seen a taste of war before. Steve hadn't.

"Never. I'd much rather not go," Steve huffed.

"You're changing their lives so much, Steve. They just want to thank you."

"Tony's the one who does the hard stuff. I just draw pictures."

"Steven," Peggy said sharply. "What have I said before? Don't talk about yourself that way. You do more than draw a few pictures and you know it."

Steve huffed out a breath. "Sorry." Old habits were hard to break, and it was even harder to get over his perception of himself. Because inside, he didn't feel any different than that scrawny teenager no one had wanted.

"Good," Peggy said primly. "Now, after we finish our jog, do you want to go to Artemis' Art Shop?"

Artemis' Art Shop of Wonders was one of Steve's favorite places to go to. It was always full of inspiration and he could always count on finding new art supplies there. It was a hipster's dream to hang out so it was usually full and bustling. The shop was a conjoined art shop with a little café that seemed to cater to all the hipsters in New York. But he could never say no to going there and Peggy knew it.

Steve huffed out a breath and pushed himself harder. "Yeah, of course."

The run was what he needed. It calmed his nerves and settled him down. He'd done plenty of Stark Industries galas before and this one wouldn't be any different. He had some ideas he wanted to talk to the recipient about, ways to further weaponize it by including a hidden knife that would be replaceable. Their recipient was a field combatant after all and Peggy was always talking about how hard it was to keep a good knife on her. By keeping one in the prosthetic, just a small concealed blade, it could be invaluable if the veteran got tied up or if he was held against his will. People wouldn't be likely to remove his arm as it would still look perfectly human so if he could keep his shirt on at least, it would prove useful, Steve was sure.

* * *

Steve anxiously adjusted his tie for the umpteenth time that evening. He was stuck backstage, waiting, while Pepper Potts and the representative for Veterans Affair spoke at length about the project Stark Industries had been doing for the last several years. It had some long complex name that Steve was ashamed to admit he could never keep track of –and sometimes, it was reassuring to think Tony might not know the name either but that probably had more to do with choice than not. Tony just referred to the project he started and maintained as "Project Prosthesis."

"It is our honor to be partnered with Stark Industries in helping rehabilitate our soldiers," Jillian said brightly, holding the microphone close. "I don't have enough words to thank Mr. Stark and all the hard work that Stark Industries goes through to support our brave men and women coming back from the battlefront."

"And in recognition of the bravery of America's finest men and women," Pepper said, smiling kindly, "we are hosting this gala for you. We want to show you what we have to offer you in terms of prosthesis. We cover whatever your insurance company won't." Pepper nodded, gesturing around the room at the many platforms set up. "Shortly, we'll let you take a tour to see what we have to offer but before that, I think it's time for Tony Stark to share a few words."

Tony strode on stage. He was built for showmanship, really. He waved at the crowd and blew a kiss towards them. "I know, I'm amazing," he said, laughing.

The audience clapped respectfully. There weren't many groupies these days that showed up, or maybe it was just that with Pepper in control she put more effort into limiting groupies from showing up. Especially for an intimate ceremony like this one where Bucky Barnes was going to be honored. He'd already been nominated by Veteran's Affairs and someone in Human Resources and Public Relations had interviewed his family and comrades and approved him for an all-expense paid prosthetic. His medical insurance company had found some ass backwards excuse to deny him anything more than the most simplistic prosthetic –which, according to his family was so poorly functioning that Bucky refused to wear it most of the time. As it was the New Year, this was the time where the other lucky recipients would be chosen. Most of veterans had medical insurance that would pay so much on allowing them to get a prosthetic but if they wanted the more complex ones with fine-motor tuning –the kind of prosthetic that would allow a person to play guitar or something complex –Stark Industries would cover the rest of the cost.

"Insurance companies these days, let me tell you! They're the biggest penny pinchers of the lot." Tony shook his head. "I don't put up with their backbone. Not for me, or for you! I started this project in honor of the men and women I met in Afghanistan. Free prosthesis for you, I'll cover what your insurance won't." Tony took a deep breath. "As many of you know, once a year, I host my annual gala. And, at this event, I get to announce the lucky person who's been chosen to receive a Stark Industries paid for prosthetic." Tony grinned at the audience. "I promise this piece is going to be of the highest quality and tailored just for our special recipient. I invite Agent Phil Coulson to the stage, to name the lucky honoree, and Stark Industries' very own Steve Rogers –the one who helps design all these fantastic prosthesis!"

Steve followed the older man out to the stage, his heart pounding in his chest. Agent Coulson didn't look nervous in the least as he stepped up to the microphone, an index card in his hand. Steve stood slightly to the right, holding a box awkwardly. Inside was a more advanced prosthetic for Sergeant Barnes to wear and a rough sketch of what they wanted to make for him. He hated having to present like this, on stage, in front of a crowd of people. He much preferred meeting them in private sessions or checking in on the patient when they were making adjustments to the prosthetic. He really didn't have much to do with that process, but every so often he was invited or asked to stop by.

"The man who has been chosen tonight is someone we've heard a lot about before," Agent Coulson said. "He is a man of great bravery, strength and pride. On behalf of S.H.I.E.L.D, I am very proud to call Sergeant James Barnes to the stage."

Steve's world slowed to a stop. He hadn't heard that name in about six years. And he'd done his best to avoid thinking about James Barnes since that fateful day. He managed to plaster a smile onto his face as Coulson summarized the exploits Sergeant Barnes had gone through and the audience erupted in big whooping cheers and claps. But Steve's focus was entirely on the box in his arms and on keeping himself together. James –Bucky –Barnes walked onto the stage, looking slightly dazed and overwhelmed. Agent Coulson shook his hand and clapped him on the back, sending him down the line to Tony Stark who spoke at length about the prosthetic Steve was holding in the box. And then James was standing in front of him, staring at the box with apprehension written all over his face. Steve didn't know how he managed to keep the reassuring smile on his face as he opened the box and held it towards the man.

James' whole face lit up and he looked about ten years younger. "It'll really work? Like, I'll be able to use my phone with this thing?"

"Absolutely!" Tony announced, loud enough for the crowd to hear. "Your last prosthetic must be really shit if it can't do that," he muttered to himself.

James didn't seem to hear him though, as he tentatively lifted out the prosthetic arm they had been building for him. It was meant to be worn every day, to appear and function like any arm would. It would more than do the job of the one he was currently wearing. James set it back in the box reverently, barely glancing in Steve's direction. He turned his attention to Tony Stark instead and Steve felt like he could breathe again.

"When can I get it attached?"

"Soon as you want," Tony said brightly. "We can make an appointment for tomorrow if you want."

"God yeah," James said, pushing his hair back from his face. "I can't stand this thing." He cast a glare in the direction of his left arm.

"I don't blame you," Tony said sympathetically, glancing at the cheap prosthetic the way only Tony could. It was a look only Tony could manage for any cheap electronic that didn't perform the way it was meant to –it was a mixed expression of disgust, offense and pity.

James seemed to remember the crowd all of a sudden because he turned back towards the audience, but most of them had dissipated already, wandering off to check out the selection of new prosthesis. Pepper had probably set it up that way, so as to not let anyone intrude on the Sergeant's moment. Steve had seen men and women cry before on learning that they were this year's recipient and soldiers were never all that keen to be seen in such an emotional state. Steve didn't blame them for it either. Being that emotional in front of a large number of people would have been a little humiliating for anyone. Even if there was nothing to be ashamed about, no one liked to be caught crying in public.

James turned back to them, smiling meaningfully. "Thank you," he said, glancing between Tony, Steve and Agent Coulson.

"No, no, no," Tony said, throwing his hands up like he could ward off the gratitude. "I've got nothing to do with this. Just my name on everything. Thank Pepper, or Steve here."

Steve stiffened. He was pretty sure he'd have to be dead and in his grave before James Barnes ever thanked him. Coulson spared them all the awkwardness of whatever encounter would have happened next if James had actually thanked Steve. Steve's not sure how he would have handled it, honestly.

"And we all owe you plenty, Bucky," Coulson said lightly. "You've done plenty for our country."

"So do you go by James or Bucky?" Tony interrupted.

"Bucky."

It wasn't like Steve knew James personally or something, but it was still like getting punched in the stomach. He didn't even know that his soul-bound went by a different name. He didn't know if "Bucky" was a nickname from childhood, or something he'd picked up when he'd been serving. It wasn't a surprise that Steve didn't know anything about James –or Bucky. He'd never had the chance to try. James had made it perfectly clear that he wanted nothing to do with Steve whatsoever.

"Hey, did you see the sketch that Steve's been working on?" Tony asked, moving fully into excited engineer mode. He opened the box and pulled out the sketch, showing it to Bucky eagerly.

Bucky frowned. "It looks… interesting."

That never meant someone liked the design. "What would you rather see?" Steve found himself asking, shifting the box to get a better view of the sketch he and Tony had been working for the last three weeks. It was ready to go into production as soon as Bucky approved it.

Bucky glanced at him uneasily. "Well, the weaponized parts are all inside. Like some kind of… you look at it and you don't see that it's dangerous."

"Oh. You want it to actually look dangerous?"

"Yeah!" Bucky said, fumbling with his pockets. He huffed in irritation and let his left hand hang awkwardly as he used his right hand to dig in his pocket. "It's not great or anything, and I don't even know if it's possible, but I was thinking something more along these lines." He pulled out a folded wad of paper, unrolling it with one hand.

Steve turned to ask Tony his opinion only to find that both Tony and Agent Coulson had left, leaving him alone with Bucky.

"My sister drew this," Bucky admitted. "We were just tossing ideas around a while back and I just," his cheeks brightened faintly, "sometimes I like to think about having a prosthetic more like this."

It was a pretty good drawing, Steve had to admit. He took the sketch carefully, examining the design and trying to find what flaws Tony would point out.

"It could be made of some kind of metal or steel?" Bucky asked hopefully.

"That's –this is more Tony's area," Steve stuttered out. "I draw out the design."

"So you drew the other one?" Bucky asked, wincing sheepishly. "I mean, your design is great and all! It just wasn't what I had in mind…."

"Yeah, I can see that," Steve admitted, admiring the sketch for another minute. He glanced over his shoulder, where Tony had been just minutes ago. No sign of the man now. He resisted the urge to sigh. "If you want I can show this to Tony and we can see if it'll work."

"I can show it to him tomorrow," Bucky said, reaching for the sketch.

Steve handed it back, feeling his stomach clench painfully. "Okay." They weren't even –Bucky hadn't even recognized him and he didn't even want Steve to help work on his arm. He had his job for more than just being able to draw well. He could deal with Tony. He understood Tony some of the time and he knew what needed to be done and drawn up. It wasn't like he was some first year student or some inexperienced prosthesis designer but Bucky sure knew how to make him feel like he was.

It was just, using metal without having any kind of covering, Steve wasn't sure how that would have to be adjusted and he knew it would require certain adjustments. Bucky's sketch was pretty clear on what exactly Bucky wanted after all. "Do you still work with S.H.I.E.L.D?" Steve asked.

Bucky scowled. "Yeah. It's not like losing an arm means I can't do missions or something."

"No I didn't –I was just wondering why you wanted a prosthesis that is visibly a weapon and acts as one too," Steve amended, glancing away from the other man.

"Yeah, it'll be a help during missions, for one," Bucky muttered. "I guess you know about S.H.I.E.L.D, see a number of us coming in?"

"Now and then," Steve agreed, thinking of the handful of agents he'd helped design prosthesis for. Not to mention Peggy and her friends. They talked a lot about how S.H.I.E.L.D. was kind of for life for most agents and loss of limb wouldn't keep them out of the field.

"Hey, you look kind of familiar," Bucky said after a moment. "Have we… met before?" There was a hesitance in his question, like he thought he already knew the answer to the question. Of course, they both knew the answer.

Steve smiled tightly. "I think we did meet, once before."

Just once was all it took. Steve wasn't sure if they were the worst ten hours of his life, but they were definitely close to being the worst ever. And he could tell by the way Bucky's eyes widened and the way he practically leapt away from Steve, that Bucky knew exactly who Steve was. It wasn't like Steve had done something so wrong, so horrible and unforgiving. He'd just… he'd just tried to help Bucky out.

"You," Bucky all but hissed.

Steve smiled awkwardly and slowly held out the box containing Bucky's new prosthetic. "Here," he said softly. He could feel the distrust and animosity burning through his connection. Bucky was entitled to his feelings. "If you… if you'd feel more comfortable not involving me in your project, I understand," Steve said, surprised at the way his voice held steady. "Just tell Tony. Your sister looks like she's a pretty good artist; she can probably fill in for my part."

He would just have to pick up some other prosthetic designs. Usually he worked exclusively with Tony because, in Tony's words, Steve wasn't a blockhead like the others. In Pepper's words, it was because he at least made sure Tony ate and drank when necessary. Bucky clutched the box with a white knuckled grip, his blue eyes wide and Steve took it as his cue to leave. Tony wasn't going to be happy –Steve was here to talk designs with people, but he'd filled his quota for dealing with people for the day. He'd more than filled it, honestly. The further away he got, the duller Bucky's emotions became.

By the time he had walked back to his apartment, it was nine o'clock at night and the gala was long over. He couldn't sense Bucky's emotions anymore. All he was left with was the floaty hollowed out feeling of not being good enough.


	2. Heart of Courage

Chapter Two, Heart of Courage

Steve jerked awake as his phone blared out the starting beat to _Iron Man_. By the time the guitarist really got the beat going, Steve managed to slide his screen open and shove it against his ear. Tony had changed the ringtone years ago and Steve had just never bothered to pick another song. At this point, the song was as annoying as Tony himself.

"Wha?" Steve slurred, squinting at his alarm clock to try and figure out if he was running late for work or if this was just another one of Tony's late night/early morning phone calls.

"Why is it that dear old Bucky Barnes refuses to let you have anything to do with his prosthesis?" Tony demanded, sounding distant. In the background, Steve could hear the whir of machines.

"Tony," Steve mumbled, sitting up slowly. It was 5:42 in the morning. "Tony, it's too early in the morning for this." Especially since Steve hadn't managed to fall asleep until nearly two o'clock in the morning.

"You're always up this early," Tony said affronted.

"Not on a Saturday," Steve groaned. "It's my day off."

"Whatever. What's going on with you and Barnes? I left you two alone for like twenty minutes, tops, and I come back and you're gone and he won't say a word about it. _Other_ than that, it might be best if you didn't work on his prosthesis."

Steve sighed heavily. He hated talking about it. The number of people who knew about his soul-bond, he could count on one hand. His mother, Sam, Peggy and of course Pepper. When he'd been hired, it had been by Pepper and shortly before Tony passed the company to her leadership. Steve didn't blame her for not warning him –she probably hadn't even realized who Bucky was either. Especially if all of his paperwork referred to him as Bucky, and not James. It wasn't like Steve knew much about his bonded. Just his name. Steve didn't like telling people about his bonded. It wasn't like it was some happy story or something. Normally, he would have just suggested Tony ask Barnes about the whole thing but he didn't want that. Knowing Tony, Tony would jump to conclusions and assume the worst. It was fine if Barnes felt that way, Steve couldn't blame him, but he didn't want Tony meddling around.

"Look, the simplest explanation is that… I'm bonded to him. It's not reciprocated and we've been estranged since it happened." Steve exhaled.

"It's not reciprocated," Tony mocked. "You pullin' my leg, Rogers?"

Steve glared at his bedroom wall. "No. I'm not."

It wasn't like Tony was in a position to understand and Steve knew that. He did. It was part of the reason why he had never mentioned it.

"Shit," Tony said, surprise in his voice. The whirring in the background cut out abruptly and Tony's voice sounded clear and close, like maybe he'd actually picked up his phone to talk for once. "That's rough."

Yeah, no kidding, Steve thought bitterly. "It is what it is."

"Not fair is what it sounds like. Is there something going on that I need to know about?"

"No!" Steve said vehemently. "It's just –Barnes and I have very… different ideas," he floundered, trying to find an explanation that would appease Tony's curiosity. The last thing he needed was for Tony to start prying, or worse, for Tony to reject Barnes' as the recipient.

"Like what?" Tony demanded incredulously. "You dedicated half your soul to him! That's a hell of a ballsy move Rogers."

Steve huffed out a breath, running a hand through his hair. "It's private Stark; I prefer not to think about it."

"When did this even happen? I think I would've heard of the guy before!" The whirring picked up again and Steve relaxed unconsciously. If Tony was back to working, that meant that his curiosity, at least, had been appeased.

"I was nineteen," Steve said slowly, doing the math backwards. "About six years ago, I guess."

Tony whistled. "Damn Steve. I'm sorry."

Steve winced. Tony wasn't one to apologize lightly and it made Steve incredibly uncomfortable. Granted, it was the most appropriate response to Steve's situation in particular. It was extremely rare for a soul-bond to go without reciprocation. Something like 0.02% of the world's population would have their soul-bond rejected. Usually by way of tragic and depressing means. Back when Steve had been researching soul-bonds, he'd learned that statistic. Although everyone was capable of creating such a bond, just a little over half of the population would eventually forge a soul-bond with someone. A little less than half of the world's population would choose to never create that soul-bond with anyone. Scientists theorized it was because those people were more afraid to lose the connection or simply be rejected. Even though they had proven that the rejected number was considerably smaller than expected, some people still refused to soul-bond.

People who successfully soul-bonded were revered. And those who were rejected, people like Steve, were pitied. Steve had made the ultimate commitment and had been rejected for it. Those who forged successful, mutual bonds would understand the loss and separation Steve struggled with every day. Sorting out what feelings and sensations were his and what belonged to Barnes. And for those who didn't make a soul-bond, they could only admire people like Steve for his bravery and courage. And although they admired him, they also pitied him because how sad it was to make such a show of him and still be rejected. But it wasn't about Steve's feelings. Steve had been honest and good-intentioned. It was Barnes' decision on how to shape their relationship and Steve had no choice but to listen.

"I told him he could tell you if he didn't want me working on the project," Steve said, barrelling past Tony's apology like it hadn't even happened. "His sister has a steady hand. I'm sure she can help."

"I still want you consulting on the designs," Tony said. "I'll get the sketches or whatever from him or her, whoever, and pass them to you for the final touch-ups."

Steve hesitated. "I don't think he'll appreciate that much."

"I don't care," Tony said airily. "I'm the boss. And you can consult without saying anything to him. I'll have J.A.R.V.I.S. keep you updated."

Steve wasn't sure how to feel about that. After being in contact with Barnes yesterday, it was still frustratingly easy to pick up on how the other man was feeling. Steve wasn't sure how much longer it would take to dull the connection back down to what it had been at, but he was hopeful it wouldn't take more than a week. He didn't want to inadvertently start dedicating himself to making sure Barnes felt happy or something. Steve had already put his soul into their relationship and he didn't want to put his heart there for Barnes to crush. Steve just wanted to move on and live something akin to a normal life. As normal as he could get, considering he would be connected with Barnes forever.

"Maybe I do?" Steve said, almost hopeful.

Tony barked out a laugh. "Good one Rogers. See you at work!" And with that, he hung up.

Steve huffed out a sigh, staring at the time. It was six in the morning. He liked being up early, but he also enjoyed sleeping in a little on his days off. There was no getting back to sleep after that kind of a conversation though, so Steve got out of bed. Steve wandered barefoot into his kitchen, throwing some eggs into a pan and starting breakfast.

Six years ago he had been a mess about the whole thing. Five years ago, he started researching everything he could find on soul-bonds –he'd been looking for an escape. There were none. Four years ago, he graduated school and started job hunting where he met Sam. Three years ago, he quit his job. Two years ago, he was hired at Stark Industries and he met Peggy. He'd never wanted to sever his soul-bond as badly as he had then. But it was a choice he could not undo. It was frustrating because it wasn't something he could make peace with. For as much as he respected Barnes' decisions, he also didn't understand them. It wasn't like Steve had done something so unforgiveable that they couldn't have tried to be friends. From Barnes' perspective, it had to be different but Steve couldn't understand how.

There was a lot to be said about people who lived with a rejected soul-bond. Most of them had depression and many others had crippling self-esteem and self-worth issues. Steve could relate to that in spades. It was hard to have any faith in yourself when the person you'd decided to spend the rest of your life with, wanted nothing to do with you. It was like jumping the gun on a marriage proposal, only worse. Because marriage wasn't forever. And while some people clung to that idea, that marriage was preferable to sharing a soul, others didn't. Steve had grown up believing he would find his soulmate, his perfect half. His mother had found hers after all. She used to talk about how magical it was, how special, and she had wanted nothing more for Steve. Steve had wanted to share that connection with someone desperately, but the fact of it was, he couldn't get anyone's attention even if he tried. Unless it was to get in a fight. But Steve wanted someone to be in love with someone who would love him back.

By the time Steve had eaten, showered and caught up on the news, it was nearly nine o'clock. Steve headed out, shoving his phone into his pocket. When he and Peggy stopped at Artemis' Art Shop, they still hadn't had his order in but Tabby had assured him that it would be in today. Apparently there was some kind of hold on his delivery and Gideon had just gotten it sorted out for today. Tabby and Gideon were the owners of the little art shop. He'd discovered it last year, when he'd moved. After a year of working for Stark, he had enough money to move into a much nicer apartment compared to where he'd been living before. Artemis' Art Shop had just opened and when Steve checked it out, he'd been surprised by the quality supplies they carried. Since then, he'd been a regular.

Steve walked into their little shop and almost turned away to walk back out. But, he was a regular and he was not going to change his entire life to make room for someone who wanted nothing to do with him. Barnes was standing at the counter, talking intensely with Tabby. He should have done this later. But it was his routine. In the last year, he'd never seen Barnes before. New York City was a huge place –and apparently Steve had enough bag luck to counter it, because that was definitely Barnes.

"Steve!" Gideon called out, friendly and with a big smile. "Right on time, as usual. Your package just got in."

Barnes whirled to face him, eyes wide. Steve kept his gaze averted as he approached the counter where Gideon was waiting. "Thanks," he said, reaching to snag a pen and sign his name on the dotted line. He was hyper-aware of the fact that Barnes was still watching him.

"Got any exciting projects on the go?" Gideon asked, handing the box over.

"Not at the moment," Steve admitted. "But I have a few ideas."

Gideon was an accountant and he managed the book-keeping aspect for the shop. His wife, Tabby, did everything else. Gideon was maybe thirty-three, with black hair that was always pushed out of his face. He had heavy set brows over dark brown eyes and a pointed nose. Steve had never seen him clean shaven and today was no exception. He was wearing a casual black t-shirt and jeans and he looked like he'd just come back from months on the sea under the sun instead of from New York in early spring. Gideon wasn't as much of a free spirit as his wife and he wasn't as knowledgeable on art, but he made up for it with his genuine curiosity.

"Charcoal and water paints," Gideon mused, "I hope you'll show us whatever you come up with."

Steve cracked a grin. "Maybe I'll take a picture."

"Ooh, tag us on Facebook!" Tabby piped up, beaming at him. "We're trying to spread the business. So if you have any art you want to credit us with helping, it'd be much appreciated."

"I think I have a few pieces," Steve said, doing his best to avoid looking at Barnes. It was difficult as he could just see him from the corner of his eye. He felt himself reaching for their connection involuntarily and stopped himself just in time. It was a reflexive action, almost beyond his control.

"Great!"

Tabby was effervescent compared to her husband's laid back attitude. Steve had never seen Tabby anything other than bubbly with happiness. She always had a word or twenty for every customer and had a way of making it feel like there was a personal connection between her and the customer. She'd gotten Steve more than once that way. But it wasn't a sales pitch when she did it; she was just passionate about art and inspiring artists. It just worked out that she sold art supplies and could easily convince a new shopper to spend a hundred dollars on product. Steve had spent the next month drawing and painting furiously, just to make sure none of the supplies went to waste.

Tabby turned her attention back to Barnes. "What's the matter? You never look this sour unless Becca's around."

Barnes snorted a laugh and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well, just thought I saw someone I knew."

Steve gathered up his supplies, doing his best to ignore Barnes completely.

"Where's the munchkin anyways?" Gideon asked his voice low and rumbling.

"Right here, right here, sheesh," Barnes grumbled, reaching to grab something.

Steve took his water color paints, the new brushes and his charcoal set and left the store. What was with Barnes suddenly showing up everywhere? Fate probably. If only Barnes had got the same memo. Steve sighed and shifted his supplies underneath his arm as he headed for the crosswalk. A walk and some fresh air could at least help clear his mind. He didn't want to try creating art with his head this muddled. Otherwise his art would just be bleak and depressing and while that did sell, it wasn't what Steve wanted his portfolio to contain. He wasn't really sure what he wanted to use his portfolio for but he knew he didn't want it stuffed full of melancholy. When he was upset or stressed, everything he touched came out with an air of sadness around it. It wasn't bad art, per se, but he had way too many projects that were depressing to look at. A couple of the better pieces were in his portfolio already, and he was trying to create happier pieces in his free time.

Steve was almost at the end of the street when he heard someone shouting his name. He turned around and was shocked to see Bucky Barnes jogging after him. More surprising than that, was to see the toddler seated on his shoulders, giggling delightedly. Steve paused uncertainly, wondering what Bucky wanted with him as the other man jogged over.

"Hey," Bucky said, not even winded. (Steve was jealous.)

"Hello," Steve replied guardedly.

"I uh, I want to apologize for my behavior."

Steve blinked in surprise. He was sure he hadn't heard that right. "You what?"

"I'm sorry." Steve stared in shock. "I just wanted you to know that," Bucky added.

Steve felt his shoulders loosen as he let his defensive posture slip away. "I can't imagine how difficult things were for you back then."

"I'm still mad about the soul-bonding but you don't deserve to be treated like…" Bucky paused, sliding the toddler off his shoulders to cover the boy's ears "crap."

The toddler squirmed, tugging at Bucky's hands impatiently, big brown eyes staring at them inquisitively.

"I'm sorry too, about that," Steve said softly.

Bucky shrugs, moving his hands away from the toddler's ears. "I had to say a bad word kiddo."

The toddler held his hand out expectantly towards Bucky.

Steve felt his lips tug into a faint smile. "Swear jar at home huh?" The toddler nodded wisely.

Steve had a few vague memories of when his mother kept one in their house. She usually kept it full on her own, considering they seldom had guests over. He thought he could remember one time when his father had put a nickel in but it was so faded he wasn't sure if it was a memory or a dream. He'd been maybe three or four when his father died and the few memories he did have of the man were equally hazy. Considering his father had been an army man from the time he graduated high school until he died, Steve thought it more likely that it was a memory.

Bucky sighed with fond exasperation, bringing Steve back to the present. "You didn't hear me say it so it doesn't count."

The boy sighed dramatically and stuck his bottom lip out, pouting. Steve smiled at them both and turned to leave.

"Bye Steve," Bucky said.

Steve glanced at them over his shoulder in time to see Bucky hand the boy a small coin that he latched onto. Steve smiled and shook his head, waving briefly at them both, before heading home. Of all the things he had expected today, that hadn't been one of them.

* * *

"Funny how it works. You're invited to Project Barnes with the man's own blessing," Tony drawled from his work station. "Something change between the lovebirds?"

This was not how Steve liked to be welcomed to work. He supposed he could be grateful that Bucky wasn't in the room with them. Pepper and Bruce both were though. Bruce was going over the biometrics scan they must have done with Bucky yesterday to prepare for today.

"Tony," Pepper said reprovingly.

"Sorry, sorry," Tony said and Steve wasn't sure whether the man even meant it.

Steve hung his satchel up, draping his jacket over it. "Well at least he knows I'm going to be here."

Pepper smiled at him kindly. "Just let me know if you need a break, Steve. If it's too much. I can't imagine how difficult this must be for you."

Steve smiled at her uncomfortably. He really wished fewer people knew. "Thank you Ms. Potts."

Pepper smiled at them all and made her exit. Bruce left next once he made sure all the biometrics were right and that everything was ready to be connected. He and Tony must have been up half the night working on the prep for today. It wasn't uncommon for either of them. If they didn't love their work so much, they could have been called workaholics. But both of them were too driven and too fueled with curiosity –they didn't take work home with them, they forgot to leave work. Tony didn't look half as disheveled as Bruce which meant Pepper had probably had someone bring fresh clothes and a comb down for Tony to look more presentable.

"Mr. Barnes said his sister didn't trust herself with any further designs," J.A.R.V.I.S. stated. "I printed off the latest copy for you to examine."

"Thanks Jarvis," Steve said sincerely, sitting down at his drafting table. The rough draft of the prosthesis that Bucky's sister had designed was already spread out. The pieces he'd been working on earlier had been rolled up and placed into his cubby holes.

Steve moved the sketch aside and began drawing it out to scale. He was in the middle of doing that when Bucky walked into the room. Tony led Bucky over to a seat.

"I needed Steve here today so he's here, but he's way over there, so just ignore him. Or throw something at him if you need his attention, that's what I do. Here, sit. J.A.R.V.I.S. run the measurements for me and update the biometrics if we need them." Tony started hunting for his tool kit.

Bucky sat down slowly, examining the lab. They were located downstairs, on the second basement floor. Through the doors were a bunch of fabricating tools meant for making quick adjustments and other fine calibrations. Tony had his personal tools for any other adjustments. There was a half wall that Steve was sitting behind where he worked on designing the prosthetics but it was out of Bucky's view. The rest of the lab consisted of comfortable seating, excellent lighting, J.A.R.V.I.S.'s computer scanning equipment that was mostly built in, and visitor seating. Not to mention the mini-fridge and water-cooler.

Steve could feel Bucky watching him, so he focused back on the sketch and resumed drawing it to scale, avoiding Bucky's gaze. He was distantly aware of Tony chattering on about Bucky's arm and the differences between the old one and the new one and the fact that it required a full disconnection and then the new one would be connected in its place. Followed by Tony's usual spiel about how much better the Stark Industries one will be. Steve glanced at them.

Bucky nodded slowly. "Are you soul-bonded with anyone?"

Tony laughed. "No. Thank Christ. I can't imagine the poor son of a bitch who would want to be stuck with me!"

Steve winced and turned his attention back to the blueprint. He could hear Bucky's amused snort easily enough. Sound carried well in this laboratory.

"Are you ready? Because this is going to hurt."

"Great," Bucky said dryly. "Yeah."

Steve glanced up, mostly to prepare himself for the pain as Tony disconnected and removed Bucky's current prosthesis. Tony wasn't lying about the pain. Steve snapped his pencil in half, slamming his teeth together in pain. His left arm was a conflagration of red, hot agony. And Tony hadn't even connected the new prosthetic yet. Bucky was tensed in pain, eyes shut tight but otherwise he seemed fine. Tony muttered an apology under his breath and attached the new prosthetic. Steve ground his teeth together, breathing in deeply through his nose. It felt like someone had dislocated his shoulder and waited a few minutes before popping it back into place.

"Fuck that hurt," Bucky hissed, relaxing his posture.

"But look, your new arm can actually use a cell phone! It has the proper glove on it and everything. And you should have about a 60% improvement in mobility," Tony explained proudly.

Steve exhaled, knocking the remains of his broken pencil into the trash.

"Steve looks like he's going to pass out," Bucky pointed out.

Steve glanced at his reflection as he reached for a new pencil. Yeah, he was looking about ten shades paler. It wasn't a good look for him.

"Ehh, he's fine. He'll be fine. Test out your arm!"

Bucky rotated his arm. "Thanks."

"No problem," Tony said, watching him expectantly. "Has the pain eased? Is there any discomfort? Can you text with it?"

"I need a number to text," Bucky said slowly, pulling out his cell phone.

"I don't have my cell on me so we'll have to make due with Steve's." Tony rattled off Steve's number before Steve could get a word in edgewise. His phone chimed at him from the desk.

From 778: _You okay?_

To 778: Feels like I dislocated my shoulder and someone popped it back into place. You?

From 778: _Same because that's basically what actually happened._

To 778: I might get an icepack. And an ibuprofen or two.

From 778: _Good idea._

To 778: The ibuprofen would be for you, if you want. I don't have any physical pain.

From 778: _uh sure._

Tony always kept a good stock of ibuprofen around for the patients that didn't have an easy time with the connections. Steve grabbed a bottle and a cup of water which he brought over with him to Bucky. Bucky took the bottle and slowly used his new prosthesis to carefully open it and measure out two small pills. He swallowed them with the cup of water much to Steve's relief. Steve offered him a small, uncertain smile. He still didn't know where he was in Bucky's opinion and he didn't want to push it too far but he was relieved that Bucky had taken the pain killers. He headed back to his desk. So long as the pain was happening to Bucky, Steve would be feeling it.

"Must suck. Any pain the soul-bonded gets, the one who is actually injured can treat but the other just has to suffer," Tony said. Steve wanted to strangle him but that would involve his aching arm. He sat down at his desk. Tony shook his head. "Another reason I will never be soul-bonded."

"I don't feel stuff," Bucky said.

"Gee, I wonder why," Tony snarked.

Bucky shrugged slowly. "I didn't ask for this."

Tony sighed audibly. "When do you want to come back so we can see how the new arm is working out for you?"

"Whenever works for you."

"Alright, two weeks from now sounds good. Unless something goes wrong, then come sooner. Jarvis, schedule it in!"


	3. Beating Me Up

"No, no, I like it," Bucky said, smiling at the to-scale sketch. "I like the changes you made. It looks great."

Steve frowned at his design, at the metal plating he had decided to add. They would give extra strength and mobility to the prosthetic and protect the important components from being damaged in a fight. It would probably require vibranium but Tony had assured Steve that it wouldn't any trouble to get as he "knew a guy." (Pepper had assured Steve there would be no black market, under-the-table dealings and that it would be completely legal which is the only reason Steve had accepted Tony's cavalier answer). Despite Bucky's assurances that he liked the new appearance, Steve wasn't satisfied with it. Something about it wasn't sitting right with Steve and he knew that he would be working on it until it did.

Today was only Bucky's follow-up appointment with Tony but he seemed more at ease than he had during their last meeting. Which could have been caused from Tony pasting some glow-in-the-dark stars to the ceiling, hanging a wall-length poster of Dog Cops on the wall. Tony also hadn't had to remove Bucky's prosthetic this time as it was functioning the way it was meant to. Unlike Bucky's last prosthetic. Tony had spent an hour disassembling it and mocking it, swearing to take every patient the medical insurance company had sent to that prosthetic designer.

Steve actually hadn't bumped into Bucky in two weeks –and he wasn't sure whether he was more relieved or disappointed. It was all too easy to believe in fate, to start thinking that the universe would actually go out of its way to make Steve's life better. Not that Bucky had the power to do that, or that Steve was putting those expectations onto that friendship but being close to his soul-bond made Steve more at ease. It was an unconscious act of his soul –it recognized the person it had been tied to, and settled. But Steve still wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.

"I'm probably going to make some more changes to it," Steve admitted, gesturing at the way the plates were drawn. "It doesn't feel right to me, yet."

Bucky smiled easily, glancing at his exposed prosthetic. Tony was off at his desk, working on adjusting one of Bucky's sleeves into a glove so he could use his phone and other touch-screen devices more easily. "It looks great to me. But okay."

"You'll get the finishing vote of course," Steve added hastily. "If there're any changes you don't –"

"Don't want, I can tell you and we can use an earlier design. Yeah, I got it." Bucky chuckled. "I figured that much. After all, you guys are Stark Industries. I mean, I wasn't even complaining about the sleeves or nothing and Stark's already working on a solution."

That _was_ Tony's forte. The man was incapable of ignoring a complaint or fault when it came to his devices. "Sorry."

Tony wheeled over on the office chair, holding the glove out to Bucky. "Try it on, try it on," he urged.

Bucky took the glove and rolled it onto his prosthetic. The material fit the fingers perfectly. He pulled his cell phone out and tested the new material. Bucky grinned. "It works! I mean, there's no sleeve so it can't wrinkle or get caught on my shirt or anything but wow, you sure work quickly here."

Tony grinned. "I am a genius. It's what I do."

"I can't wait to see what the finished design is, Steve," Bucky said amiably, shrugging his leather jacket back on. "And thanks again, Stark."

Tony waved off his thanks. "Just need you to sign on the paperwork and you're free to enjoy your weekend."

Bucky dragged the paperwork over with his prosthetic hand, twirling the pen across his knuckles a little clumsily. It almost fell off twice, but Bucky adjusted his hand and the pen rolled across easily. Bucky snatched it just before it fell off his hand. He smirked at the paperwork and signed his name with a flourish. "This is just the usual signing that I'm happy with how the equipment's working, right?"

Tony gasped mockingly. "Never sign what you haven't read!" He laughed to himself. "Yeah, that's it. What's got your panties in a twist –got a hot date?"

"Sure do!" Bucky called, already leaving.

Steve felt like someone had punched him in his solar plexus as the air in his lungs was expelled. He supposed it was better that Bucky told them upfront, rather than sharing some apologetic look with Steve. Bucky didn't owe Steve anything. Steve didn't owe Bucky anything. He had no say over what Bucky did or didn't do with his life. It was a rather difficult adjustment to make though. But he could pretend this way, that he and Bucky were just casual acquaintances, and there was nothing between them.

Steve had read online that it was easier when your soul-bond rejected you, if a platonic relationship could be developed. It would help in bleeding off the outbursts of negative energy. According to studies on long-distance soul-bonds, when the couple wasn't close, the only echoes each person would feel were negative ones. Pain, hurt, fear. Nightmares could be shared between the couple, allowing them to see what each other was afraid of. When the couples reunited though, the negative emotional outbursts would evaporate slowly and allow the positive ones to re-emerge. Steve figured it had to do with the stories where one person in a soul-bond was in serious need of attention –by only allowing the negative emotions to be shared; there would never be any danger of positive emotions overwhelming or obscuring the truth. Steve's mother had shared plenty of stories where patients in the emergency room used morphine and other pain relievers to attempt and mask their hurt and fear, but despite the loopy moods they were put into, it never seemed to affect their soul-bonded.

Steve wasn't jealous of Bucky. He wasn't hurt that Bucky could move on, could so easily announce that fact. But everything inside Steve hurt –like a bone deep pain, a sluggish exhaustion of numb pain that was weighing him down. It hadn't been there minutes ago, but it had since made its presence known. Steve's entire being ached with pain.

"Steve?"

Steve startled, turning to see Bruce was standing beside him. The laboratory was empty. Tony had probably run off to tell Bruce that Steve needed help.

"Hello Dr. Banner," Steve said, smiling weakly. "Tony sent you?"

"He did." Bruce's brown eyes danced amusedly. "Although I'm not entirely sure why. I'm not a therapist or a psychologist."

Bruce was always honest, a trait that Steve could appreciate. "Guess I can't tell you all my dark secrets then."

Bruce's lips turned up in a smile. "I wish I could say Tony hadn't told me what events led up to this…"

Steve glanced at him worriedly, suddenly registering that he was sitting on his ass, with his arms around his legs. He was breathing shallowly. Had he had a panic attack without noticing? That wasn't possible. Unless… Steve mentally cringed. It was possible, at times, when it was your whole being that was under attack. He could have easily not noticed the physical symptoms, if there were even any, because he was wound up in his head.

"Oh, I, uh…" Steve got to his feet unsteadily, setting a hand on the nearby desk to balance himself. "I guess I lost it for a minute there."

"Steve," Bruce said firmly. "As your friend, as a colleague, I think it would do you some good to talk to someone about this. An expert maybe, someone who understands what's going on and can help you adjust to it." Bruce paused at this, removing his glasses to wipe them clean. "Because I know the statistics on rejected soul-bonds just the same as you do."

Steve flinched at Bruce's gentle tone. "I guess I could."

"I don't want anything to happen to you. I strongly recommend an expert, Steve. Soul-bonds are complicated enough on their own, not to mention how inherently dangerous a failed or rejected 'bond can be." Bruce observed Steve. "I could recommend a few doctors, and I'm sure Tony could too. Don't be ashamed to ask for help. You've done impressively well for six years, but maybe your recent involvement with him is doing more harm than good."

Steve shoved his hands into his pants pockets. "I understand."

* * *

" _People can sure be silly sometimes," Sarah would say, tucking Steve into bed. "Trying to cover up their hurts so the person they've chosen as the other half of their whole won't know they're dying. To protect them from seeing them in their frail last moments."_

" _Wouldn't that hurt more?" Steve would ask. "Finding out you missed those moments? How come they don't understand that?"_

" _I don't know," Sarah used to sigh, caressing his small cheek with her hand. "Just remember Steve, don't make something big seem something small. It isn't good for you or anyone else."_

 _Steve didn't know much about his father and he didn't like to bring him up, because any time he did, Mama would get that sad look on her face. But of the few things he knew about his father, he knew he had died away from Mama and that Mama had left Steve with their neighbor Missus Burrows to try and get to Joseph in time. Steve still didn't know if she had or not, but he could see that sadness creeping back into his mother's eyes. He reached over and hugged her._

" _I wouldn't do that," he had said, smiling tiredly. He was just recovering from something the doctor had called Rheumatic Fever. Today was the first day he'd been healthy enough for Sarah to leave him at home on his own while she went to work._

" _Good," Sarah had replied, smiling at him. "Because if you ever do, I will come right on down and box your ears, boy."_

 _Steve had giggled._

* * *

This probably wasn't what Bruce had had in mind when he told Steve to talk to an expert. Steve took a deep breath, skimming through the list of profiles. was a place where the forsaken could connect and share their experiences. For users who had been active and involved on the site for more than six months, their profile would go live and new members were welcome to contact those older and more experienced. Steve had already looked through eight different profiles but none of those users had seemed to click with Steve. Steve pulled up the ninth profile and was surprised to find that instead of it being an actual selfie, it was just a picture of a slobbery faced dog with a purple collar around its neck.

The profile was simple, like the user had put as much effort into it as Steve had when he registered. It was reassuring. Instead of being packed full of what Steve inferred were useless facts, it was simple and contained the most basic information. Barton was their username and Steve was pretty sure the guy (his profile indicated he was male) had a fondness for pizza as there was a coded symbol for it at the bottom of his self-description. Steve took a deep breath and clicked the message option. Barton had been on the site for three years which was apparently when the site opened up. Steve kind of regretted that he had become so uninvolved with rejected soul-bond research that he had missed the development of an entire Internet community.

"Hey, I'm really new to this site and I've been noticing some changes lately since I started encountering my soul-bond and I was looking for some advice." Simple enough. Steve hit the enter key, watching the message filter into the private chat. He reached for his bottle of water, intending to pull up the forums and the FAQ while he waited for a response when the chat messenger beeped.

Barton: I'm not really the best one to ask for advice, but I can give it my best. My profile doesn't say much, but my soul-bond was rejected eleven years ago and I work every day with my soul-bond.

Steve: I bumped into my soul-bond two weeks ago. We encountered each other twice and then once more today. He announced that he was going on a date. And I thought I was just thinking about soul-bond facts, accepting the fact that he wasn't mine. I mean, we met six years ago but outside of that, we hadn't seen one another until two weeks ago.

Barton: Rough.

Steve: When he said that, I guess I lost some time because I came to sitting on the floor and feeling like I'd just had a panic attack.

Barton: I'd say it's probably a case of what I call "recent reunitis" because it happens every time I leave for a few months without my soul-bond and as soon as I come back and see him, get reminded that he's got his own girlfriend, his own life, I end up blacking out for a bit. I try and plan on when I'll bump into him again –I've got access to his schedule and the like, and the "recent reunitis" doesn't affect me until one of us leaves the room. I spend a lot of time in the hospital so I try and arrange for him to have to meet me there.

Steve: Clever.

Barton: Simple for me. If you work in an office or something that's gonna be harder. You must be really new to this site –ah, your profile says you joined an hour ago.

Steve: I needed answers.

Barton: Yeah no kidding. We all do when we start up. There's something you're gonna want to know before it starts happening to you…

Steve didn't get the chance to read Barton's next message because he was running to the bathroom. White hot heat seared into his body and he dropped next to the toilet bowl. It wasn't a bad pain, but it wasn't a good pain either. He shivered, feeling the heat sear down his body like a phantom touch, from the base of his neck to the curve of his ass. His moan was less of pleasure and more of confusion as he bent over the toilet bowl and expelled his stomach contents. Steve ripped his shirt off, panting as he gagged again, fumbling to get his pants off until he was down to just his briefs. He was radiating heat –he swore he could have been steaming. He flushed the toilet just as his stomach spasmed and he curled into a ball of discomfort on his floor. The tiles were cool and refreshing against his overheated skin.

The phantom touch hadn't stopped either. It would stop and start up at intervening periods, raising gooseflesh as it caressed Steve's shoulders, back and ass. That realization was enough for Steve to push himself up onto his elbows, retching into the toilet once again. Icy cold shame flooded his senses as he lay back onto the floor. Bucky was having sex. Bucky was having sex with someone else. As much as his head could understand that, as much as his heart was indifferent to it, it was his soul that was writhing in pain. Steve had known that Bucky had no interest in Steve due to his soul-bond, but it was one thing to understand it and another entirely to feel what Bucky was currently feeling.

Steve lay on the bathroom floor, unable to do much more than just lie there. The heat was still there, but there was an edge of pain to it. The pain wasn't coming from Bucky, but from the aching loneliness inside Steve's chest that was determined to swallow him whole. Outside of that, he just wished he didn't have to feel what Bucky was feeling. Mentally, it was more awkward and uncomfortable than anything else. Steve was not turned on and he was forced to endure the phantom touches that he knew Bucky was experiencing. And Steve was pretty sure his soul-bond had no idea that this was yet another side effect of their bond. And Steve was never going to bring it up. Bucky was clearly struggling enough to deal with the fact that they were soul-bonded –Steve wasn't going to make it worse.

It was an hour before he could get to his feet. He took a punishingly cold shower and hobbled back to his computer where there were several messages waiting from Barton.

Barton: The more interaction you have with your soul-bond, the more intense emotional experiences you'll share. If your bonded is going on a date and has sex, you're going to spend the next hour or two on your knees in extreme agony. It's less intense, doesn't last as long, the more time that passes. But your soul is basically throwing yourself at your bonded and every time you meet him or her, it's gonna get worse. I'm friends with my bonded and for all that talk they had a few years back, how friendship would mean it would be bearable? What a bunch of bullshit.

Barton: When the bond is mutual, it's supposed to make the sex between the bonded a shared experience that's worthy of nirvana or so I've been told. As it is, in our shoes, we get half the deal. Everything flows in a one-way direction. Straight from them to us. The friendship lets you siphon off some happy emotions, lessens the negativity but the real reason everyone started pushing for friendship between the rejected parties was an attempt to reduce the suicide rate.

Barton: It did work. Suicide rates dropped.

Steve: So you just trade friendship to get a little bit of happiness and relief from the negativity?

Barton: Negative emotions are easier to share, easier to transfer. They can be overwhelming. Happiness not so much.

Steve sat back and sighed at his monitor. He dragged a hand through his sopping wet hair. He was going to be alone for the rest of his life. It was something he'd feared since he was a teenager and so far his adulthood hadn't been any kinder to him.

Barton: I'm gonna go ahead and give you my number. Call me if you need someone to talk to. I know I did, when I ended up in this shit storm. I've got International calling and provided my phone isn't lost, I'll answer.

Steve reluctantly added the number into his phone. He was still weeks away from finishing the design for Bucky's prosthetic and Tony had already scheduled another three weeks' worth of meetings. If the emotional bleeding was only going to get worse, if being closer to Bucky was going to make life harder, Steve would need someone who understood what he was going through. Peggy and Sam, for as good of friends as they were, could not understand the agony Steve was in. Steve could barely comprehend it himself. It wasn't a physical ache, and it wasn't as though he was upset at Bucky –he wasn't in love with him, it wasn't his heart that was being torn apart. It was his soul.

All those years ago, Steve had wondered at the statistics. Seventy-five percent of rejected soul-bonds took their own lives. He hadn't understood it then. But then, he'd only been experiencing bouts of pain, muscle aches and nightmares. Now though, it was different. Steve thought he could understand it a little better. Most rejected soul-bonds were from people who were friends or couples, not strangers. Those people had to live through a break-up and then experience their partner moving on. Steve shuddered at the chill in the air, turning his computer off and shuffling to bed. He didn't even have the energy to thank Barton. He just needed to go and crash. Steve collapsed onto his bed and passed out gratefully. At least asleep, he wasn't in pain.

His dreams were ugly, coiled shadows, attacking him every minute he was asleep. They were impressions and fragmented memories full of terror that did not belong to him. When he had his nightmares they were more distinct and focused on either Steve's fear of being alone or of dying when he was a child. The third time he woke from a sound slumber with a racing heart and gasping breaths he grabbed his phone and pushed call.

"Barton," drawled a rough voice.

"This is, uh, Steve –you gave me your number, earlier."

"Oh yeah, yeah!" There was a pause followed by what sounded like a glass shattering and a series of quiet curses. "Sorry about that. You wanted to talk?"

Steve resisted the urge to ask if the guy was okay. He didn't sound particularly worried. "I couldn't sleep," he admitted. He glanced at his alarm clock, wincing. It wasn't even five o'clock in the morning. The sun hadn't even touched the horizon yet. "I didn't wake you up did I?"

Barton gave a low, breathy chuckle. "Nah. I keep weird hours myself so don't worry about it."

Steve rubbed at his face. "I don't even know where to begin." Or what to say, what to ask. "I get my bonded's nightmares pretty frequently but tonight seems to be exceptionally worse."

"Yeah? I know that feeling." Barton paused and something clattered in the background. Barton sighed. "I'm really not the best person to ask for advice. Like, when I get his nightmares, I drink a glass or two of scotch. If you're drunk, the nightmares don't get to you."

With all of Steve's medications, he couldn't drink alcohol. "I can't drink."

"Shit," Barton said, well-meaning. "I've heard of people using meditation to deal with it. Like to focus on separating yourself from your soul-bond –because no matter how much your soul thinks it found its perfect match, you and I know otherwise. Our prospective match knows better. It's easier to manage if you can separate yourself from them. It won't always work because sometimes they're bleeding off too much to handle."

"I haven't tried that."

"It's a start," Barton said sympathetically. "I've got a few people I know, I can ask around." He paused again. "You got any other questions?"

"Only one," Steve replied despondently.

"Yeah?"

"Why me?"

"Beats me. Got shitty luck, I guess. Or broken hearts meant for finding people who deserve better."

Steve didn't think that fit him, exactly. "People who aren't interested in you."

"That too," Barton agreed, and Steve could hear the clink of ice cubes as Barton took a drink. "Well, least you're not alone now."

A small comfort. But better that than nothing at all. Steve managed a tiny smile in return. "Guess there's that." Steve got up, padding barefooted into his kitchen. He poured a glass of water. "Is Barton really your name?"

"S'my last name," he said. "Clint's my real name."

"I think we're gonna be hearing from each other a lot," Steve admitted. "I don't really know how to handle this anymore."

"How were you managing before?"

"I live in New York and I hadn't seen him in six years. It was easy to keep his emotions and mine separate."

"I got plenty of experience in dealing with seeing my bonded every day." Barton –Clint –sighed. "He's my boss, you see."

Steve nearly choked on the water he was drinking. He coughed once, just to make sure he wasn't going to inhale any of it by accident. "That must be awkward."

"Nah," Clint said softly. "Not really. It's not like he knows or anything."

Steve blinked in surprise. "How's that possible?"

"I saved his life. I just never… told anyone. Doctors called it a miracle. You?"

"My bonded, yeah, he knows. I saved his life too. Stayed with him." Steve could remember the way the paramedics appraised him with something akin to pride and sadness when they arrived. Steve rode in the ambulance with him back to the hospital and stayed until Bucky's family arrived. He left before they could see him, but he left his contact information with a nurse to pass on to Bucky. He came back later that night, unable to rest without knowing if his soul-bonded was safe. "He told me he never wanted to see me again. That it would have been better if I'd just let him die."

"Shitty."

Bucky had said a lot more than just that. He made his feelings on the matter perfectly clear. Steve should have just stepped in the middle of rush hour traffic and let the universe take care of his idiocy. Steve didn't know what he had been thinking, or expecting, when he went back. But it hadn't been that. It hadn't been that.

"He… apologized," Steve admitted after a lingering moment of silence. "But he still can't forgive me for making a soul-bond. I'd never met him until I was saving his life, see?"

"I've been in love with my boss for twelve years. Saving him was the obvious answer." Clint snorted bitterly. "Imagine my surprise, sitting across from him in the hospital when his girlfriend shows up. I was going to tell him, right up until that moment. I thought I'd be better off suffering with my own shame –he doesn't need to know."

"Do you need him to know?"

"I need him in my life," Clint replied darkly. "I wouldn't survive losing his friendship."

Empathetic silence fell between them. It was the heavy quiet of understanding how the other must feel.


	4. The Lonely

"You're not in love with him are you?" Clint asked, banging around in his kitchen.

"No," Steve answered solemnly, adding another line to the design he was sketching.

"So why don't you play the field a little bit?"

"Last time I tried that, I found someone who was only interested in an available soul-bond." Steve managed a sad smile. "It wasn't fair to her."

Clint whistled. "Sorry to hear that." He swore colorfully and Steve heard what sounded like metal clattering in the background.

"Are you okay?" Steve asked, lips twitching amusedly. In the last few days, he'd learned that Clint Barton was a human disaster. If he wasn't dropping something, he was breaking it.

"Yeah –hey, you do know there are dating services out there where people are specifically searching for unavailable men and women?"

Steve scoffed, shading in the metal plates on his design. "I'm not going to be some-some homewrecker."

Clint snorted, offended. "No. No, that's not what I mean. I mean, you know there're plenty of women and men out there terrified of being intimately connected to someone for their whole lives? They join these sites where people promise to never soul-bond or discuss it. They, I don't know, like to pretend it doesn't exist."

"Or because they're cheating."

Clint huffed in annoyance. "Just because we have soul-bonds with men who don't want us, doesn't mean we can't get laid!"

Steve's fingers spasmed and he sighed, erasing the pencil mark patiently.

"You don't think I've been celibate the last decade or so, do you?" Clint demanded. "Because I might be pathetic and desperate –but not that blind. Definitely not that blind." Clint sighed. "They made it easier, at times."

No one out there could ever ease the ache in Steve's chest. Except for the one who had caused it. But, Bucky didn't owe Steve anything. Steve had made his own choices.

"I don't like online dating," Steve deflected, scanning his latest sketch. It was starting to come together now, the idea of the plates working to protect the arm as well as to give Bucky extra strength.

"You register online and then you go in person and get seated at a table and it's basically a big round robin. It's all pre-arranged and you get to spend twenty to forty minutes getting to know your partner. No expectations. If you're sitting at a host table, you can ask for numbers but they can't ask for yours. Vice versa if you're the guest. It's fun."

Steve wasn't anyone's first pick. Ever. "I don't know. I like meeting people the old fashioned way."

Clint snickered. "Should I be watching the tabloids more closely? I can see the headlines now: Tony Stark dating his artist; is art really so unprofitable that it turns the best men into paid prostitutes?"

Steve made a face. "Not in a million years –not if we were the last people on earth."

"Who else are you going to meet, then? You've met them already. And you aren't dating any of them, probably for some good reason or another. Go meet some new people."

Steve grimaced. "You know, for a guy who says he doesn't give good advice, you sure give a lot of it."

Clint laughed. "There's a difference between being an asshole, being bossy and being someone capable of giving good advice. Go join the damn site, Steve." He hung up.

Steve pulled his phone away and stared at it in surprise. He smirked and pulled up Clint's message thread. _To Clint: Do you know which you were being?_

 _From Clint: Best two out of three, right? ;)_

Steve snorted and shook his head. But, when he pulled away from working on Bucky's prosthesis, he started Googling dating services in New York. There were cafes that catered to making "spontaneous" soul-bonds happen but it had more than a hundred bad reviews, most of which called the company a scam. The next few services were specifically targeted at people who wanted to create a soul-bond so Steve edited his search down to specify for people who were looking to escape. He exchanged a few more texts with Clint reluctantly, and ended up going to the site Clint recommended. It was called, disturbingly enough, Karma Sutra and it was definitely something Clint would find funny. (Steve thought it was a little too on-the-nose, considering). But the reviews were overwhelmingly positive and the write-up of their provided services was especially appealing.

"Tired of hearing that dreaded word? Tired of friends and family demanding you bond already? Welcome to the twenty-first century solution –Internet dating, real-life meet-ups at a place where anyone who asks or talks about soul anything are removed free of charge!" read their ad.

Registration cost a shocking twenty-five dollars and guaranteed Steve three separate meet-up events. The meet-ups were arranged based on who was currently available and willing in the pool of registered members within the local district and they were held at La Blanche Nuit, a suave lounge downtown. Steve would attend three meet-ups where the round robin interviews would begin. His time with each blind date would be dependent on how many other registered users were available to attend and once there was a minimum of ten people, the event would be organized by the local management of Karma Sutra. Steve awkwardly input his personal information and marked down what days he was free for.

After, he debated calling Sam for no reason other than to laugh at the laudable company name but he couldn't bring himself to do it. His hands were shaking with anxiety and there wasn't even a scheduled meet-up he'd been invited to attend. He was just afraid that no one was going to want him again. It was, after all, a pattern in his life. Steve rested his head in his hands and wondered what he'd just gotten himself into. Because he wasn't sure that all he needed was a lay. He needed a lot of things –and he wouldn't say that having sex was one of the things he needed right now.

* * *

" _What'd you learn today?" Sarah asked, smiling tiredly at him. She always asked him what he learned, wanted to make sure he was still getting a proper education._

" _Mrs. Murdock told us all about the ways to complete a soul-bond," Steve reported proudly, doodling in his notebook. Mrs. Murdock always hated when he did that, but it was worth it just to see his mother smile these days._

" _What'd she tell you?" Sarah asked her voice thin and shaky. It was the chemotherapy –it hadn't been easy on her._

" _She said that there's three ways. The first is the kind we always see in movies where a couple just dedicate their lives to each other –usually in an intimate setting or a planned one, like at a wedding. She called those ones the 'Lovers bond.' The next she said was the 'Business bond' where the couple agrees to bond in order to get some kind of gain mutually. And the third she said were the 'Duty bonds' where-where someone in need gets a bond from someone who voluntarily gives up that part of themselves."_

 _Steve thought the Duty Bonds were the saddest ones he had heard of. Doing something like that without love? He couldn't see himself doing it, as much as he admired the people who signed up to bond with someone in a crisis situation._

" _As wrong as ever," Sarah said fondly. "There are more like five or six different bonds. Those three are the most predominant, yes, but they aren't the only ones."_

" _They aren't?"_

" _No. You can have a "Friends' bond" one purely platonic, based on shared joys. There are "Spontaneous bonds" too, where one minute you've met a stranger and suddenly you're connected, or you're in the middle of an argument with your rival and suddenly the pair have become a couple. And then, there are the Rejected bonds. That of people who've been turned down but their bond was accepted."_

" _That's something that happens?" Steve had asked incredulously._

" _No one likes to talk about it," Sarah murmured. "It makes people uncomfortable to realize just how the bonds work between two people. They work in conjecture, together, a complete unity or in a broken half."_

 _Steve hadn't realized there was something out there sadder than a Duty bond. "What happens to those ones? The ones who got rejected?"_

 _Sarah smiled sadly. "Nothing good."_

* * *

It had taken him a week to hear about a date and time for the first meet-up he could attend, which would be held in two weeks from the confirmation date. Steve had spent far too much time worrying about what to wear and pestering Clint with questions; enough time that the date of the event approached with a terrifying speed. Not unlike a train barrelling down the tracks, brakes broken and conductor waving in a blind panic at Steve who was tied to the rails. A week and a half from the promised date, he ended up phoning Sam and going over ice breaker topics. Of course, Sam spent the first ten minutes of the call laughing at him. Sam was always honest and he was at least trustworthy when it came to interrelationships with other people –Clint? Not so much. And it would have been too humiliating to even ask Peggy or Tony about.

The hostess guided him to a seat where a number placard was displayed in the middle of the table, the black embossed font of a bold number four easily visible. There were twenty people here tonight. Steve would have fifteen minutes to talk with each person and as he was the "host" in the situation, he would be the one giving out his number if he wanted. At least for the first half, before they changed it up so that the hosts could intermingle with each other and then the guests would do the same. It wasn't the weirdest way to spend a Friday night, but it was giving more anxiety than he willingly subjected himself to experiencing. He'd spent an hour deliberating about what to wear and he was desperately hoping the white-collared button up wasn't too formal or too casual. La Blanche Nuit was a very lounge-y place. The seats were leather, the tables mahogany and the lights dim candles for intimacy.

Part of his registration fee meant was to pay for La Blanche Nuit, and a smaller portion covered different menu availabilities. Steve hadn't wanted to put fifty dollars towards it, so his table was served with water and a bread basket. It was simple. And it looked _cheap_. Steve adjusted his collar nervously –it, at least, wasn't cheap. All the 'Karma Sutra' members were spread out through the lounge, far enough away from each other that they could not see one another. A soft trill echoed through the restaurant and a young waitress escorted Steve's first guest to his table. She was a blonde bombshell in a skin-tight black dress that looked like it had been sewn onto her. She sat down in one graceful, fluid movement that Steve almost thought impossible. A second bell trilled.

"I'm Nadia Rushman," she purred, her plump red lips revealing perfectly white teeth.

"Steve Rogers," Steve replied, smiling shyly. This woman was as beautiful as Peggy –something Steve didn't think very often.

"I'm from California," she volunteered. "I moved up here for work at Stark Industries."

What a freakishly small world. "That's too bad," Steve said, smiling at her politely. "I work for Stark Industries too. And I have a rule to never date a colleague –Mr. Stark is always unbearable and I'd hate to bring a partner into that kind of situation."

Nadia's smile dimmed and it almost took Steve's breath away. "What a shame. You shouldn't let your boss control your life."

"I would agree with you any other time," Steve said honestly. "Mr. Stark is a bit of a different ballgame."

Nadia sat up straighter, leaning her elbows on the table and resting her chin on her hands. Her ample cleavage was in his line of sight, but Steve kept his eyes on hers. Her eyes actually could have been the color of diamonds. "I haven't met him yet. Is he as much of a ladies' man as everyone says?"

"He's everyone's man," Steve replied vaguely. "Your eyes are very beautiful."

"Oh, thank you," she demurred, ducking her head and looking up at him through her eyelashes.

She was very beautiful. But she was not his type in the least, not to mention there was something about her that just didn't sit right with Steve. It was like she was a very good actress but everything about her was fake. Steve was relieved when the bell trilled and saved him from any further stilted conversation between them. She blew him a kiss as she left. The next guest to approach Steve was a man in his mid-thirties; scruffy, a little bit buff and wearing a worn leather jacket.

"Name's Logan," the guy harrumphed.

Steve hadn't realized harrumphed was a way of speaking until he met this man. "Steve."

"How old are you, kid?"

Steve smiled tightly. "I think twenty-six is a little too old to be called 'kid.'"

Logan shrugged. "Might be. You like motorcycles?"

The next fifteen minutes were full of easy conversation about motorcycle mechanics. Logan seemed like an okay guy. Steve got the feeling that he didn't really let people in though, and Steve was perfectly fine to not comment on that. The next trill brought a raven haired woman with sharp blue eyes. She was small and thin, all jutting bones and hard edges. She stared Steve down.

"You've got some kind of common place name," she announced. "You use your hands a lot –art, maybe."

"What, are you a mentalist?" Steve joked.

She smiled, all predatorily. "Maybe." She dragged her eyes over his form. "You're not exceedingly right, but you aren't poor either. You put effort in tonight, so you care about the outcome."

"And judging by your ripped up jeans and swagger, you're only here to prove a point to someone else by being overly hostile?" Steve asked, in as neutral a tone as he could manage.

She shrugged one shoulder. "You're not so bad at this either. Next you'll tell me you're in the private detective business I suppose?"

Steve laughed. "No, not my line of work. I'm an artist." No need to be specific.

She nodded approvingly. It turned out her name was Jessica and while she had a lot of headstrong opinions, she was also fascinating to talk to. Steve was a mixture of relieved and disappointed to see her go. After her, it was Carol who Steve nearly offered his number to at three different points before changing his mind. Carol was great, but Steve thought she was a little too good for him. After her, it was a bit of a blur. Pietro who was cute, but a little young and a little too rough around the edges –Wanda, who was gorgeous and terrifying –some guy named Wade who was wearing a balaclava and talked to himself –Peter who was definitely jailbait and a blind guy by the name of Matt who had the maturity and humor Peter had been missing. Skye arrived at the next bell and she filled all the empty space with long rambling talks, and had enough time to apologize for it before the bell had rung again.

And then the waitress escorted Steve from his table to a different area of the lounge where she sat him at table number three, across from a buxom young woman named Bobbi. Bobbi was attractive, sharp-thinking and witty but she wasn't his type. Steve didn't know how that was possible, exactly, but he did accept her card when she offered it. They were instructed to switch seats and Bobbi moved down the line, towards the shadowy space of another table as a young man approached Steve's.

"Hey," he said warmly, sitting across from Steve. "I'm Killian Cassidy." His accent was a watered down Irish accent, the cadence of his voice familiar.

"Steve Rogers," he offered, extending his hand.

Killian's calloused hand shook his lightly. "Nice to meet you."

Steve smiled, enjoying the lilt to his words. "My mother and her family were from Ireland," he said.

Killian smiled warmly brightly, his nose crinkling adorably and pushing his glasses up. "I came here when I was about nine. Never quite lost the accent."

"My mother didn't either," Steve said, grinning. "I remember I always wished I'd grown up with the accent."

Killian shrugged lightly, the tight material of his shirt accentuating his muscles. "It has its benefits," he admitted smugly. "I always tried for the New Yawker drawl," he said, clumsily mimicking a poor New Jersey accent. "Never did get the hang of it."

Steve laughed. "I can see that. You use it at parties much?"

"Only if I'm really drunk," Killian admitted, grinning at him.

Steve wrote his number down. "Probably a good thing you save it for then," he admitted, pushing the card over nervously.

"Thanks," Killian said warmly, pocketing the card. "You're a peach." As the bell rang, he stood up and pecked Steve's cheek before trading places with Steve.

As Steve sat down at the next table, he had a sudden and inexplicable fear of the man sitting across from him. He was probably twice the size of Steve, with a black eye, a broken nose and a butterfly bandage across his cheek. His hands were resting on the table and Steve could see that his knuckles were quite clearly bruised.

"Name's Frank Castle," the guy sighed.

"Steve."

Silence stretched between them, long and uncomfortable. Neither of them willing to break the silence.

"I have a dog," Frank admitted, after a long moment.

"Do you have any pictures?" Steve felt compelled to ask.

Frank nodded and pulled an old flip phone out of his pocket. He turned it around and Steve could see a grey and white pit-bull was set as his background. And that started a brief, stilted conversation on dogs and dog fighting rings. Apparently Frank had put a stop to an entire ring on his own –Steve didn't ask how and he didn't ask what Frank did for a living either –some questions were better left unanswered –and that was how he'd ended up with the dog. Steve had never been happier to hear the bell trill and took Frank's vacated seat as a middle aged woman approached. She introduced herself as Jean Grey and although their conversation was pleasant and polite, there was nothing special about it. Steve moved to the next table where he met a young woman by the name of Kitty who was way too young. But she was bright and kind and Steve traded seats with her when the bell ended.

A woman who couldn't have been more than twenty-three sat across from him. "I'm Allison Alexandra," she said, smiling kindly. Her eyes were so dark in color they were nearly black.

"Steve Rogers."

"So Steve," she began gravely. "What kind of things do you do for fun?" She tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear.

"I draw," Steve admitted. "Or paint. Depends on my mood, really." He paused. "What about you?"

"I play the trumpet," she admitted, eyes twinkling. "Not really the most romantic instrument or anything, I mean, I can't serenade you with it."

"I bet it would make a good alarm clock," Steve said, eyes widening as he realized that putting his foot in his mouth right now would have been less awkward. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean it like that –"

Allison tilted her head to the side, considering. "No, no. It's a good point. I'm just trying to decide what would be more ear splitting at nine o'clock on a Sunday morning –probably the fortississimo… that would definitely wake a guy up. But on the other hand, playing a trumpet badly would too…"

Steve smiled uncertainly. "I… really?"

"Well yeah!" Allison enthused, delving into an explanation on the specific differences between ear-splitting and headache inducing.

When the bell trilled, Steve handed her his number and moved onto the next table. First it was the blindly happy Gwen Stacey and then it was a somber woman by the name of Maria Hill who spent the entire fifteen minutes interrogating him. Steve didn't even get a chance to ask her a question. Not that it really mattered, as she was the host and she did not leave Steve her number. A fact he was mildly grateful for, because he wouldn't have to feel obligated to call her back. Or guilty about not calling her back because that had been about as much fun as the one time he'd actually been interrogated.

And then, he took a seat at the last table. And found himself staring straight at Bucky Barnes. Bucky's blue eyes were wide in surprise, his mouth slack. Steve sunk back against his chair, wishing the fifteen minutes were already over. Bucky had stepped up his game tonight, as he was wearing an open black leather jacket and a grey Henley. His hair was actually styled and Steve was pretty sure he was wearing a little cologne because the heavy scent of it hung in the air, stretched in the growing silence between them.

"You look… nice," Steve offered, not sure if it was appropriate to comment on it but desperate to fill the icy silence.

Bucky seemed taken aback, staring down at his hands. For the first time, Steve noticed the expensive wine filling the new glass set aside for him. Bucky had put a lot of money into this, into making sure this went well. Steve rolled his lips together, fighting the guilt pooling in his gut. This was ridiculous. It wasn't like he'd known Bucky had been here, he hadn't chosen to do this today of all days.

"What are you doing here?" Bucky finally asked, glancing at him impatiently.

"Same thing as you," Steve replied carefully. "Trying to forget."

Bucky's face twisted. "That's not what I'm –that's not what I'm here doing." He sat forward in his seat, earnest blue eyes meeting Steve's. "I don't want you and your whole packaged deal. I came here to find someone else who _gets_ it."

Steve wasn't prepared for the wave of frustration that rolled into him from Bucky. He desperately tried to cut off the connection, to sever it, dull the emotion but he couldn't. It was an open floodgate.

"Everyone in my life wants to see me married and happy with somebody –and they all think they know what's best. They all think they know how to find the perfect soul-bond for me." Bucky shook his head. "I don't buy that. I don't buy any of it. I don't need someone –I don't need you or anyone else like you knowing more about me than I want them to." Bucky crossed his arms.

A heavy wave of sorrow washed through their connection. "I'm sorry," Steve said at last. "I'm sorry that's –that's what I caused."

Bucky shook his head. "Keep it to yourself, alright?"

There were about twenty things Steve had to say, wanted to ask, but he kept them to himself. He didn't have a right to ask Bucky for anything.

"Did you really come here to try and forget about me?" Bucky asked after a beat of silence. He seemed to make a conscious decision to relax his posture, eyeing Steve curiously. The wall of sorrow settled into numbness.

"Yes," Steve muttered quietly, glancing away from Bucky. He could feel his soul trying to compress itself in shame, the way it was blaming his head for trying to do something to ease their pain. It was shouting that there was still hope. But Steve knew better –there was _no_ hope.

Bucky shook his head disbelievingly. "How did we end up here?" He chuckled. "Six years without a word and now it's like whenever I turn around, you're there."

Steve smiled weakly. "Same."

"So, how did you end up working at Stark Industries anyways? I seem to remember you were, ah, unemployed last time we met." Bucky glanced away uncomfortably.

Steve grimaced. He would rather be at his dentist, getting his teeth pulled than sitting here right now. "I was a recent graduate. Art student. Applied at some places, word got around; applied at Stark Industries and they hired me."

"An art student who designs prosthetics?" Bucky asked incredulously.

Steve shrugged. "There're worse things I could be doing. I could have been stuck doing propaganda posters for a Republican." Steve stared at Bucky, wide-eyed. _Please say you aren't a Republican… please say you aren't a Republican._

Bucky chuckled. "Yeah I guess that would suck." He waved his prosthetic hand subtly, moving each finger individually. "A few years ago my opinion was Republican in nature, but I see the world a little different these days." He smiled sadly.

Regret slammed into Steve like a truck. How did Bucky manage to feel so much all the time? By the time their fifteen minutes were up, Steve was going to be black and blue from all the emotions of today. And they weren't even his.

Bucky inhaled softly, glancing around awkwardly. "So, uh, how many cards did you score today?"

Steve gritted his teeth, grabbed the glass of wine and drank it in one long swallow. It did nothing to lessen the agony of this moment. "None," he said, showing his empty hands to Bucky.

Bucky blinked in surprise. "There's no way. None?"

Steve took a slow, deep breath and let it out. "None." He waited for the taunting, for the bullying to begin. Bucky probably had a card from everyone in the room –he'd probably even managed to get a card from Frank.

He wasn't surprised. Bucky could be charming and he was certainly handsome. Steve on the other hand, was just Steve. He was barely five foot ten and while he'd gained about fifty pounds since he was a teenager, he just looked awkwardly lanky. He wasn't tall enough to be lanky but he was too skinny, too devoid of muscles to be anything but lanky. He was awkward –he'd been putting his foot in his mouth his whole life, today was no exception. Why'd he let Clint talk him into doing this?

"That's bullshit," Bucky said adamantly. "You're a great guy. Someone'll be real lucky to have you."

It wasn't like no one had ever told that to him before. Sarah made a habit of it. Steve even though about it himself at night. But the fact of the matter was that the people he most wanted, never wanted him back. So, yes, he knew that somewhere out in the world was someone who could properly appreciate Steve. But what he wanted was for someone to appreciate who he was now. He was a good guy –he tried to do the right thing, he did his best to help others and be respectful when it was deserved. But excluding a handful of burly, hairy men and several drunken college girls, Steve had never met anyone who'd wanted him the way Bucky had grown up with people wanting him. Peggy had taken her time to get to know Steve first and as much as she was on his back about him giving himself low self-esteem, he did his best to never bring up the fact that even she had taken her time to get to know him first. Steve breathed out again. He visualized the faces of the men and women who had rejected him, and he imagined shoving them out of his head, one by one until his mind was empty. In the empty space, he visualized himself as he wanted to be. He thought about Dr. Erskine's pills. This moment, right here and now, wasn't the be-all-end-all of his life. He was more than this.

"I know," Steve said, keeping his voice light. "I know."

The bell finally trilled and as Steve stood to get up, Bucky handed him a card and offered a small smile. Steve wasn't sure whether he should punch Bucky in the face or just rip up the card. It wasn't like Bucky wanted Steve to call him. As Steve was deliberating over what to do, he saw the hostess making her way towards Bucky and he watched as Bucky's shoulders dropped.

"Mr. Barnes," the elderly woman said, reaching a hand out slowly.

Bucky jerked his shoulder back. "Yeah?" he asked, adopting a very defensive position.

"Our monitors overheard your conversation. And, as this is a very strict rule of ours –"

Bucky huffed out a sigh. "Yeah. No using the word soul-bond here. I get it."

"We'll also have to ask that you return the cards you've received as it wouldn't be fair to the others-"

"Bucky isn't the one who said it," Steve said, getting to his feet. He looked at the hostess. "I was the one who said it. He's just trying to cover for me because he knows it's my first time. Here's my only card," he said, handing her the card that Bucky had just given him. "I'm leaving now. Sorry about the misunderstanding."

He didn't give them a chance to respond as he walked out of La Blanche Nuit. The Sleepless Night indeed. Steve walked home in the cold downpour, letting the water soak through his clothes and invigorate him. He didn't need Bucky's pity. When he got home, his clothes were glued to his body they were so wet. He had to peel them off as he ran a hot shower, setting his phone in a shallow bowl of rice. It was still working but there was never any harm in using rice. Just in case.

He fired off two texts after his shower. The first one to Sam, which simply read: He was there. The other he addressed to Clint which read: I can't believe I let you talk me into that. Monumentally bad idea. Soul-bond was there. It sucked.

And then Steve crawled into his bed and stared at the ceiling, willing himself to fall asleep. Sleep took it's time in coming. By the time the sun was starting its slow rise over the horizon, Steve had just fallen asleep. He missed the way his phone lit up, chiming faintly from the bowl of rice.


	5. Heavy In Your Arms

Steve's alarm went off late and he had to skip his morning shower in order to grab a bite to eat and a mug of coffee in order to make it to work on time. He needed to get his designs to Jarvis, get approval or modifications and fix them up. And when he got to Stark Industries, Steve found a disaster waiting. Tony was standing at one end of the lab and Bruce at the other, the two of them glaring furiously at the other. The last time they'd gotten into an argument, they hadn't spoken in two weeks. It took Steve the better part of eight hours to get them talking again (Tony kept making Bruce consult on the biomedical components instead of asking Dr. Cho which in turn chafed both Bruce and Dr. Cho) but with eight hours of passing messages and apologies on behalf of each scientist, they headed out for drinks at the end of their shift. And Steve spent an extra fifteen minutes, scanning his designs in for Jarvis' recommendations. He'd hear back tomorrow.

As such, Steve didn't check his phone until it was just after four and he was sitting down for a very late lunch. Shepherding scientists was not easy. He had eight messages. Steve frowned and pulled up his messages, confused. At most, he could understand having one or two texts from Peggy or Sam. But eight? Four of them were from Clint, one from Sam, two from one unknown phone number with a familiar area code and another unknown number with a local area code. Steve pulled up the local number first, expecting spam.

 _Hi, this is Allison! :) thanks for your number._

Steve blinked in surprise, actually feeling a little touched. She had wanted his number after all, then. He went back and pulled up the other familiar area code.

 _So I'm free any time after six if you are?_ Immediately followed by: _This is Killian Cassidy._

Disbelievingly, Steve pulled up Sam's message.

Sam: It's like you two have radar destined to find each other. That's rough. I'm sorry about that.

Steve: Don't make it sound more like fate. It's bad luck, plain and simple.

He pulled up Clint's messages next, wondering what he wanted so urgently.

Clint: Damn. I never thought he'd be there.

Clint: Also, strange request, but my date found someone else to dance with tonight and I've got a formal dinner for work and I could really use a buffer tonight?

Clint: It's no problem if you can't make it.

Clint: But if you can, it's at eight o'clock at The Emperor Legacy.

Steve: I'll be there.

Steve was pretty sure this was the first time he was wearing one of his suits that wasn't for a Stark Industries gala or event. It was tailored and well-fitting, a crisp black over a white shirt that would get him in through the front doors. He didn't even know what Clint looked like but he'd been assured that on arrival Steve just had to ask for Clint and someone would show him the way. Steve wasn't entirely sure how he managed it, but he arrived with twenty minutes to spare at the Emperor Legacy. Steve was honestly a little intimidated by the building as he arrived –it was very extravagant.

The doors opened onto marbled floor with a double staircase leading upstairs. Beyond them there was the lobby desk, fully staffed with men and women in matching uniform. Steve approached the front desk hesitantly. Despite the fact that he worked for Tony Stark, one of the wealthiest men alive, Steve was not comfortable at expensive places like this. Growing up, it had been a treat just to get fast food. With Tony, he was so honestly oblivious to his wealth that it made most situations with him bearable. Not to mention the fact that as Steve got more involved in the company and having to be in the public eye at events, that Peggy and Pepper had both taken time to teach him some etiquette. A fact of which he was grateful now. He drew himself up to his full height, shoulders back and his head held high to project the confidence he wasn't feeling.

"I'm here for Clint Barton?" he asked. "There's a dinner party tonight."

The young woman smiled brightly and it was so genuine Steve was nearly taken aback. Maybe she was an actress? Maybe that was a requirement for these fine and fancy establishments. "You're looking for the S.H.I.E.L.D. party," she said warmly, gesturing towards a hallway. "They're right through there."

S.H.I.E.L.D. Clint worked for S.H.I.E.L.D. Steve felt his heartrate speed up. He was going to run into Bucky again. Shit. The universe was really out to get him. It was too late for him to leave now, unless he wanted to abandon Clint to dealing with his own soul problem on his own. At the very least, if Clint was here it meant that Steve wouldn't have to deal with Bucky on his own. Which after last night's incident, sounded worlds better.

He smiled politely. "Thank you," he said, walking towards the door she had indicated.

When he opened the door, there were two men in hotel uniforms waiting. Steve had to fight back the urge to flinch away when they both went to move towards him. The one on the right seemed to win whatever competition they were in though.

"What is your name?" inquired the hotel staff.

"I'm –I'm here for Clint Barton," Steve said, beginning to feel a little overwhelmed.

The doors had opened to reveal a spacious dining room with a series of small tables huddled together throughout the room. The other half featured a podium for a speaker and Steve noticed the DJ's set up and nearly winced. Clint had not mentioned anything about having to dance. Then again, if he had, Steve was pretty sure he would have refused to come. Steve had two left feet and no sense of rhythm –it was the last place Steve would ever go. He hoped Clint didn't need a dancing partner because if so that would be awkward. More than awkward though, it would be embarrassing.

"Right this way sir," the host said politely, leading Steve towards the table. "I'm afraid Mr. Barton hasn't arrived yet, but we do have a place set out for you." The waiter gestured to the seat.

Steve sat down awkwardly in the plush seat and wondered how long he would be here without Clint. There were maybe three other people in the room, seated at various tables. There were probably enough tables to sit about fifty people –six people per table, eight tables in total. Steve pulled his phone out and sent Clint a quick text, just to let him know that he had arrived. A group of people arrived, laughing and chatting with each other and they all ended up sitting together a few tables away. Gradually more people filtered into the room, but none of them joined Steve's table. Anxiously, he peered around to look at the placards at his table. Beside him was Clint Barton, and next to Clint was a Phil Coulson (and that name was oddly familiar too) who was seated at the head of their little table. Next to Phil Coulson was Audrey Nathan, beside her was a card that simply read "guest" and at the end of the table, next to Steve, was a Natasha Romanov.

Steve watched with increasing anxiety as the other tables gradually filled with people, but his remained empty. He checked the room in a sudden bout of paranoia, afraid that he would see Bucky just around a corner. But there was no sign of his ill-fated soul-bond and he didn't know whether to be grateful or resentful. He was minding his own business, at a friend's request, and his thoughts had somehow still ended up gravitating towards Bucky. His walls were up firmly today but even as he did a quick check, he couldn't sense anything of Bucky today. Which, really, was a good day for him.

Steve glanced up in surprise as a couple joined his table. It was an older man with a receding hairline, he was maybe mid-forties at a guess, and the woman on his arm was in her early thirties. Her dress was a long maroon with sequined polka dots and there was glint of gold around her neck. The man's pocket square matched the color of her dress perfectly and he gave her a sweet, chaste kiss as she took a seat. Steve recognized the man with a jolt as he took a seat –Phil Coulson, the man at the charity event where Steve had presented the arm for Bucky. Was this Clint's boss? The woman took notice of him first, turning a warm and kind smile in his direction.

"I'm Audrey Nathan," she said politely, offering her hand.

Steve shook hers lightly. "Steve Rogers."

"Phil Coulson," said the other man, smiling at them lightly. "You're with Clint then?"

"Ah, yes," Steve said, unable to help the flush that crawled up the back of his neck. Had Clint wanted Steve there to pass off as his dating partner? Or had Clint just wanted to bring him along as a friend?

Phil smiled and it softened his whole face. "Good. I'm glad. It's been a long time since he brought anyone with him."

Audrey smiled sweetly. "That's so great. How did you meet him?"

Fuck. Steve was not prepared for this at all. Clint could have given him a head's up. "I, uh, online? Online dating."

If Audrey was disappointed, she didn't show it. But Steve noticed the way Phil's mouth tightened briefly. "Natasha said she and her date were running a few minutes late."

Where was Clint? Was Clint even coming?

"Fairly recently?" Phil asked, smiling knowingly. "Just a guess, if you're not used to his complete lack of punctuality."

Steve colored brightly. "Yeah. Just a few weeks." Might as well stick to the truth as much as he could; keep digging the hole deeper. But also, he really should have seen that Clint would lack the ability to be punctual. That in and of itself was not a surprise.

"He'll get here, before Director Fury starts his speech." Phil chuckled to himself. "Fury would have his head if he came in late or interrupted a good speech."

Natasha and Matt arrived next and Steve was thoroughly shocked to find that he recognized both of them. Although, last night Natasha had had blonde hair and went by the name Nadia, it was definitely her. And Matt was the same Matt Steve had met last night. He was even wearing an identical suit, although today it was a sophisticated green pocket square. Phil and Audrey stood as Natasha and Matt arrived and Steve quickly followed their social cues to get to his feet. Natasha had her arm through Matt's as she walked their table. Tonight she was wearing a one-shouldered cocktail dress that was such a dark green it was nearly black. Steve watched as they approached, sitting down once Natasha was seated.

"You must be Clint's date," she said, smiling airily at him.

"Steve Rogers," he said agreeably, offering his hand.

Natasha took his hand, squeezing firmly. There was a look of iron steel in her eyes that had not been there the previous night. "Natasha Romanov."

Steve maintained a polite smile, withdrawing his hand. He couldn't very well ask her about last night –he was supposed to be here as Clint's date after all. There would be no saving his cover unless he lied and said that last night was the first time he had met Clint except for the fact that he literally had no idea what Clint looked like. His eyes drifted towards Matt.

"I'd shake your hand but I'd be at risk of punching a water glass with my luck," he smiled amusedly. "I'm Matt Murdock. Nice to meet you."

"Oh! You're that lawyer, right?" Audrey asked.

"Yes, I am," Matt said, smiling in her direction. "Who are you?"

Audrey squeaked in apology, turning faintly red. "I'm Audrey Nathan."

"She's my date," Phil explained. "I'm Phil Coulson."

"My boss, and Clint's," Natasha said wryly. "He's in charge of half of S.H.I.E.L.D. but we're his favorites so he allows us to sit with him."

Phil rolled his eyes. "You mean you spent the last how many years terrorizing how many others until Fury assigned you both to sit with me?"

Natasha smiled proudly. "Same thing, really, I didn't hear you put up a fight about it."

Phil chuckled. "Well, what can I say? You're more entertaining than Jasper and Agent Torres put together."

At that moment, a man wearing a black leather trench coat walked up to the podium and Steve's train of thought was derailed. Everyone else was wearing black tie clothing –except for that guy. He didn't even look like he gave a damn that he was wearing leather, or that he stood out. In fact, he was staring everyone down. At that moment, the doors opened and Steve glanced over to see a waiter leading a man in his mid to late thirties with sandy blonde hair towards them. _Clint_ , his brain provided helpfully. That was Clint. Clint was wearing an ill-fitting grey suit with a white-and-purple striped tie and it was noticeably absent a pocket square. Clint smiled sheepishly, slipping into the empty seat between Steve and Phil just as the man in the black leather coat reached the podium.

"Hey, you're here," Clint murmured sounding surprised as he sat down.

"Nice to see you're on time as usual Barton," drawled the man, and several people in the room chuckled, including Clint. "Let's get this out of the way –welcome, I'm glad to see you've survived another year." The man surveyed the room and Steve noticed the eyepatch across his eye and the faint scars around it. "This is your employee appreciation dinner. Order whatever you like –Barton, if I hear you've ordered eight plates of chili corn dogs, I'm throwing your ass out the window."

"Yes sir," Clint called obediently, grinning. "So I can order seven plates then?"

The man directed a frankly terrifying glare in Clint's direction. Clint had to be immune to not even appear chastised or apologetic. "You order so much as one single chili dog and you'll find my boot farther up your ass than you can dislodge."

"Good to know, Director Fury," Clint said nonchalantly. "I'll find something else to order."

Fury nodded, like this was the way the world was meant to be run. Steve figured that for a man like him, maybe the world did run that way. "Enjoy," Fury announced darkly, stomping off the platform, his coat billowing behind him impressively.

Clint smiled around at everyone. "Sorry I'm late. You would _not_ believe my day."

"Was it the mob again?" Natasha asked lightly, but there was an undercurrent of violent intent in her voice.

"Pirates," Clint said, sounding awed himself. "It was pirates this time."

Natasha rolled her eyes, folding her napkin over her lap. "I'm not asking because I don't want to know."

"You always have the most interesting stories," Audrey supplied.

"Oh look, the menus are here," Phil said, as the waiters deposited a menu for each of them. "The food here is always fantastic."

Clint shared a small smile with Steve, opening his menu. Dinner passed quickly, in a blur of easy conversation and jokes. Somehow, no one mentioned the fact that Steve and Clint were supposed to be dating. Until the dancing –and of course there was dancing –started. Natasha got up and led Matt to the dance floor, Phil and Audrey quickly following. It was the first time Steve and Clint had been left alone. Or moderately alone, because the waiting staff were currently descending on their table to clear away the dirty dishes. The food _had_ been fantastic and filling.

"So your friends probably think we're dating," Steve admitted.

"Oh that's fine. That's great actually," Clint said.

"How is it great? We aren't actually dating."

"Coulson's been getting worried about me lately," Clint admitted, rubbing the back of his head. "I've been single for a long time. And he's a worrywart –so this'll get him off my back. We can fake date for a few months and then I'll say I broke up with you and we're all good."

"That sounds like a terrible plan."

"Nah, it's great. I've got a long mission coming up. It's a solid plan Captain Worrypants."

Steve arched a brow. "I came here as a favor, I could walk out the doors."

"Very dramatic," Clint teased, grinning at him. "You'd make a big scene. I'd have to declare my love or propose or something."

Steve's heart decided to speed up at that moment and he choked out a laugh. "I'd turn you down on principle alone."

"Why, 'cause I didn't ask you to dance?"

"No!" Steve said quickly, laughing. "I barely know you."

Clint shrugged. "You know there's no harm in living a little. Unless you're secretly a ninety-year old man, because there might be some dangers there. Accidental heart attacks and so on."

Steve rolled his eyes. "I'm twenty-six, I'm not dead. I do plenty of living."

Clint grinned at him. "Yeah? Says the guy that refused to try out some harmless blind dates." Clint's expression sobered. "I'm really sorry your guy was there."

"Not like you could have known he was there," Steve said. "I'm kind of surprised he isn't here tonight. He keeps showing up."

"Why would he be here?"

Steve paused, realizing that he had never mentioned Bucky by name or circumstance before. "He's –he works for S.H.I.E.L.D."

Somehow, he couldn't bring himself to mention him by name. Not here. It felt like it would have been too big an invasion of Bucky's privacy. Even just thinking about it was making his skin crawl. Which was odd –this was Bucky's workplace and being here felt like Steve had broken into the man's home. Yet, when Bucky was in Steve's workplace, it felt normal and almost natural for Bucky to be there. It wasn't a feeling he was accustomed to and he didn't really know how to deal with it. He supposed he should just be grateful that Bucky hadn't shown up yet.

"Really?" Clint asked, eyes wide. "Who?"

"I –I don't think it's something he advertises," Steve hedged. "I don't think I can say." He was surprised at the way his soul relaxed, the way a curious feeling of ease washed over him with that statement.

Clint shrugged, "Yeah, I can get that. Ah well, if I don't know who it is, I won't get in trouble for kicking his ass."

Steve narrowed his eyes. "He's not a bad guy," he protested and the words sounded weak even to him. "He means well, I think…" Steve sighed, frustrated. "I don't know anymore."

Clint set his hand on Steve's back, "We'll never know," he said quietly. "We aren't them. We aren't their thoughts and we aren't their souls. We just get to be there for the ride with them." He pulled his hand away. "Right now, the only thing I can feel is how Coulson's in love." Clint smiled sadly. "They're happy together."

"I can't feel anything," Steve admitted quietly. "I either get his emotions in tidal waves that try and drown me, or a wall of nothing."

"If he works for S.H.I.E.L.D. there's a good chance he's out of the country," Clint offered. "Especially if you haven't seen him tonight."

Steve glanced at the dancers, searching for a sign of Bucky. But there was none. He scanned the mostly empty tables but none of their faces were familiar either. "He's not here."

Clint bumped their shoulders together. "How about we go and do something fun tonight? Celebrate that he won't be showing up to ruin your good time."

Steve smiled awkwardly. "I don't really want to leave."

Clint gave another easy shrug. "Just saying, the longer we sit here without dancing the more suspicious it looks."

"I have two left feet," Steve retorted. "I'm not going to dance, not even if it was to save my life."

Clint chuckled. "It isn't that hard. Look, Matt's got the hang of it and he's blind. I'm deaf and I do alright."

Steve glanced at Clint in surprise, noticing the purple hearing aid for the first time. "I had some hearing trouble when I was a kid," he said after a moment. "And I still have two left feet."

"If you've got a partner who knows what they're doing, it's pretty easy."

"Does my partner know what he's doing?" Steve asked suspiciously.

Clint snickered. "Yeah. I had to take lessons, y'know, gotta blend in with all these rich folk."

"But do you like doing it?"

Clint blinked thoughtfully. "It depends. So come on partner, let's find out if I like dancing with _you_." Clint got to his feet, offering his hand to Steve.

Steve sighed reluctantly and set his hand over Clint's. "I'm trusting you," he said warning. "And if I step on your feet, I better not hear complaints since you're making me do this."

Clint laughed, pulling him to his feet easily. "Sure thing cap'n."

* * *

 _The singular, lone echoing beep of the heart monitor chased Steve out of the room, out of the hospital entirely. He was alone. He was well and truly alone in this world. At nineteen. His mother never even got to see him graduate. The doctors had offered to extend her life longer, more chemotherapy, more drugs, more, more, and more. They even offered to have someone Duty bond her. But Steve wouldn't do that to her. Not to mention the fact that she did have a DNB form filled out –they just hadn't had time to get the lawyer to sign off on it. Steve could have gone against her wishes. He could have but he wasn't going to. It was –it was the last thing she'd asked for, to let her go. And there was nothing else Steve could do for her, so he was going to do that. He let her go. He signed the papers. It only took a few, brief minutes. Sarah Rogers had lived her life without regrets and without fear. She was thirty-eight when she died._

 _The wind whipped against his face and he had to blink dirt and tears out of his eyes as he came to a stop. It was an intersection, red lights blazing. He didn't know what he was supposed to do with the rest of his life. He was in college and working part-time with more than a dozen scholarships and bursaries under his belt to ease the strain but he didn't know what he would do with an art degree. He knew he would get one; it had been his mother's dream to see him make something of his talent. But already Sarah was gone, as was her optimism. Getting a job with just an Art's Degree was nearly impossible. Steve wiped at his eyes, blinking against the wind. He breathed out shakily. This wasn't how his mother would have wanted him to grieve. They were Irish; they were supposed to celebrate and drink and remember the good times. Remember that Sarah had lived a long and fulfilling life, even if she'd died before she hit forty. Steve still had to call their friends, try and find if they even had any distant family who could or would attend her wake._

 _The crosswalk chimed and Steve started walking, not really paying attention to where he was going. He just needed to be gone. He couldn't bear to wait in the hospital –and it wasn't like the nurses didn't know how to get in contact with him if they needed to. He was Sarah's son after all. To them, he was still little Steven Rogers. The boy who was always sick. At nineteen, he was barely five foot four and he'd been losing weight instead of gaining it. Finals week and his mother's rapid decrease in health had left him just shy of the ninety pound mark. His doctor would probably have a heart attack when Steve went in for his next check-up, but that would have to be okay. He would have to be._

 _Steve had just made it to the pavement when he heard the screaming of brakes being hit and he spun around to see a dishevelled man running towards incoming traffic. He was wearing a white cotton gown, long greasy brown hair falling about his shoulders. From this angle, Steve could clearly see that the man only had one arm because the long-sleeve of his left arm was billowing in the wind. The man fell against one car hard enough to dent it and the driver honked their horn which didn't help anything. The man flinched back, staggering away from the car and –and he was crossing the divider. No one was doing anything. It was like watching a train wreck. The man stumbled and fell across the divider, pushing himself back to his feet unsteadily as a black car honked at him. It had the opposite effect and the guy froze, like a deer in headlights and the driver realized it too late, slamming on its brakes when it was just feet away. Steve wasn't sure when he moved, when his feet had left the pavement, but he was running towards the man._

 _The car collided with the man in the white gown at a reduced speed, but it didn't account for much. His body flew through the air, landing at the crosswalk just as Steve reached him. There was blood everywhere. The man's eyes were shut, but he was bleeding out. He was definitely bleeding out. The driver was stumbling out of their car, vomiting over the divider. Steve tentatively checked for a pulse, breathing out shakily when he found a fluttering pulse beneath his fingers. The man had dark circles under his eyes, and his one hand was covered in bandages. He was wearing a hospital bracelet around his wrist, tagged blue, marked for psychiatric patients. Steve swallowed slowly, watching in horror as each breath the man took came further and further apart. And he never wanted to do this, it wasn't something he wanted to do but –_

 _The medical bracelet read: Sergeant James Barnes. He was twenty-one years old. And looking at him, past the hard lines and bruises around his face, he was young. He probably had family out there. Someone out there who cared for him. Who loved him, who didn't want him to die bleeding out in a stranger's arms. Around him, Steve was distantly aware that there were people hovering, on their cell phones. Steve shifted his position, reaching over James' prone form to turn the medical bracelet away from anyone's sight as he held his hand. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and prayed that he could help this man today. He hadn't been able to help his mother, to help himself, but maybe he could do a little bit of good yet. Maybe._

 _Steve thought of James' face, the sharp blue eyes of a man in a military uniform, staring into the camera. He thought of the newsreels, of the hero coming home decorated with medals for bravery. He thought of the picture the paparazzi had snagged at the airport, of a man hunched in on himself in fear, blue eyes dim and haunted, flanked by his command unit. He thought about how much pain James' family must have gone through –not knowing if their son was alive or dead, staring at the MIA stamped across his military records. He thought about how they'd probably be allowed minimal visits while the psychiatrists helped James. He felt his eyes fill with tears as he remembered the loss of his mother, sharp and visceral and he just wanted it to go away. If James could be okay, maybe Steve could be okay too. James was too young to die. James had more to live for than just this, going out in a snapshot of disorientation and fear. James was_ meant _for more than this._

 _James hadn't been given the chance to see a world after the war he'd been rescued from. Steve wanted to give him that. It happened instantly –a searing heat between their connected arms, a wash of physical agony that struck Steve to his core, so hard that he nearly lost his connection with James. He held on tighter, desperate, drawing the pain away, feeling his chest tighten and constrict with each breath he took. Steve fumbled to adjust his grasp, feeling for James' pulse at his wrist. It was faster, more regular. It felt like there were knife blades digging into his sides. And then, in the distance, Steve heard the sirens. It felt like a choir was singing in praise but Steve still didn't let go. He couldn't._

 _The paramedics arrived, glancing at Steve with something akin to awe as they strapped James onto a gurney. Steve only let go long enough to move out of their way, but he hovered nearby. Just in case. In case of what, he had no idea. But he knew he needed to be near James, knew instinctually that if he was touching James, James might pull through. The paramedics didn't ask him to stop, or chastise him; they simply worked around each other in silence. Steve was only dimly aware of the way they chattered to each other in technical terms, but he wasn't listening. He was feeling the thrum of life from James, and drawing away the pain. He didn't know what else he could do. He knew what soul-bonds were supposed to be able to do for each other, but this was a different case. No one at school had ever really talked about Duty bonds, like it was a bad thing, a shameful thing. Although they were only ever spoken of reverently, or sometimes mockingly. Steve had been guilty of doing that a time or two himself._

" _Do you want to come with him?" the paramedic asked, clambering into the back of the ambulance, the door held open._

 _Steve didn't need to be asked twice. He got into the ambulance and settled in for an anxiety filled drive, setting his hand over James'. It was going to be okay. It was going to be perfectly okay. They ended up back at the hospital Steve had just left from, and they refused to let Steve go into the operating room, so he sat down on the hard chairs prepared for a long wait. The paramedics must have told the nurses what was going on, because no one bothered Steve. Someone brought him a coffee. He was there when they moved James to a private room, but he didn't go in. James was still unconscious and being in the hospital for so long was making Steve stir-crazy. He went outside to drink his cold coffee and get some fresh air and by the time he came back inside, James' room was full of visitors. Steve went back to talk with his mother's doctor and signed the paperwork in a blur. Her loss was a bright, stabbing pain but it was dulled in comparison to the sharp agony of James' pain. How long had it been since…?_

 _He stopped at the cafeteria to grab a bite to eat and by the time he had done that, it was dark outside. He made his way back to James' room, which was empty of visitors. The nurse waved him in and Steve stumbled into the room, clumsy and awkward and unsure of himself. Maybe, he thought, maybe he could have a chance. At having a friend, at having someone who could understand –understand what exactly, Steve wasn't sure of. But he thought, he thought it wouldn't be so bad if something good came out of today. James' survival was definitely one good thing. James was sitting up, propped up by a mountain of pillows, his dull blue eyes turning to root Steve to the spot._

" _You should have let me die," James rasped out, pushing his long hair out of his face._

" _I –I couldn't," Steve stuttered out. "I –you deserved a second chance."_

 _He hadn't wanted gratitude, but this wasn't what he had expected at all._

 _James' eyes narrowed. "I wanted to die," he growled, his voice harsh and echoing in the private room. "I didn't need your help. You should have spared us all your idiocy and jumped in front of traffic if that's what you wanted so badly."_

 _Steve flinched. "Look, I –"_

" _I don't care. I don't want to see you again."_

" _But I –"_

" _Don't you think you've done enough damage?" James hissed, glaring at him. "Just get out!"_

 _Steve left and it felt like he was being torn apart inside. The stress, the loss, the grief all piled together and the next day Steve found himself admitted to the hospital with the beginning stages of pneumonia. By the time he was released, James was long gone. And any hope Steve had left with him had crumbled into dust and ash._


	6. Light

Dinner with Clint had been a great idea, even if the dancing hadn't been as spectacular as Steve had been expecting. But, true to his word, Clint didn't even complain when Steve stepped on his toes. Dancing with Clint was a lot easier than any other dancing Steve had ever done before –most notably the one awkward dance he'd had with Peggy. Clint had said it was just because he knew what he was doing and pointed out his usual dance partner. Natasha, who was waltzing around the room with Matt. Steve had actually been a little disappointed to head home, that the night was over, but he and Clint ended up exchanging a flurry of texts with one another. It made the night feel less lonely and it lifted Steve's mood for the rest of the night. That night sleep came easily, but rest not so much.

Steve woke up covered in cold sweat, bitterness curling in his gut. Gooseflesh rippled across his arms and he dragged them back under the sheets, forcing his eyes to open. His room was dark, the window shut and nothing was out of place. But there was an antsy itch underneath his skin, like he needed to get up, needed to investigate. Steve let out a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding and rolled onto his stomach. Bucky, again. Steve put his arm over his eyes, willing the itch to settle down, refusing to give into the urge to check that his room was secure. Exhaustion won out first, and Steve slipped back to sleep without giving into the emotions. He wondered if Bucky had the same success.

But, maybe an hour or two later, he woke up again. He'd kicked his blankets off in his sleep and now he was freezing and his arm was aching _and he just needed to secure the room_. Steve groaned, halfway to getting out of bed when he realized that the emotions weren't his. They were Bucky's. It was Bucky's hypervigilance. Steve lay back down stubbornly, shutting his eyes. He pushed at the restless itching at the back of his mind, intending to lock it away but it only got worse. His leg spasmed with the need to get up and check. He could feel the anxiety sliding across his chest, quickening his breath, like he thought someone might be in the room with him. But he was alone. And he didn't need to get up and check to prove that he _was_ alone.

He and Clint had spent some time talking over the meditation, the way to build a dividing wall and Steve let his eyes fall shut and concentrated on building a brick wall. It was the first time he'd had a reason to do so, and he laid each brick down, one by one until it was a wall that dulled their connection. It lasted long enough to provide him some relief from the itchy anxiety, long enough for him to drift back to sleep. He didn't wake up again until his alarm went off in the morning, and oddly enough, for the first time since he'd run into Bucky all those weeks ago, it felt like everything was going to be okay. He had some control back over his life, over his body and his emotions. It didn't stop the nightmares or the dreams, but it made them manageable. It lessened their control over him. And for that, Steve was incredibly grateful.

Getting up was easy enough and Steve stopped into work just to check on his sketches. He needed to know if he was going to be needed to do any modifications over the weekend or if Tony was already working on building the prototype. Which, of course, he was. In the end, J.A.R.V.I.S. had approved the design and sent it to Tony so Steve had his weekend off. He went out with Sam, Riley and Peggy for drinks on Saturday night. Peggy was going out on more missions, rising in security clearance steadily. Apparently her handler, now Daniel Sousa (and that was new too) had put her into a specialized ops team with Dottie and Angie much to her delight. Thompson hadn't been able to stop them after Peggy's success in doing something Steve didn't have the clearance to know about and Assistant Director Hill had gotten involved with assigning Peggy to Sousa's team. Peggy spoke at length about how this new path would let her into the field to do her job and the fact that field work meant she would climb the ranks faster.

"In less than a year, I'll be higher ranked than Thompson and he won't be able to do a thing about it!" Peggy declared, downing a celebratory shot.

Riley clapped her on the back. "You show him!" Riley and Sam had been dating since they joined the military and these days Riley worked as a consultant for S.H.I.E.L.D.

Sam was happier at the Veteran's Affair office. "Congrats Peggy." With Sam's military background, he could have easily transitioned to working for S.H.I.E.L.D. but he insisted that he was happier working in the counselling profession.

Steve had met Sam at the track, where he had been unsuccessfully trying to get in shape. His lungs hadn't allowed for any cardio back then and Sam luckily knew how to recognize someone having an asthma attack and what to do. Sam's youngest sister had been born with bad asthma so it had been second nature for him to get Steve's rescue inhaler and help him out. Their friendship had been fast and instantaneous. Sam had introduced Steve to Riley and by the time Steve was hanging out with Peggy, head over heels for her, she'd agreed to meet his other two friends. Riley and she connected quickly and that was actually how Riley ended up consulting for S.H.I.E.L.D.

"So what've you been up to, Steven?" Peggy asked, her dark eyes twinkling knowingly. "You've been awfully quiet lately."

Sam glanced at him sympathetically. Sam's job meant he had regular hours and was always on hand for a quick text or phone call. Peggy could be halfway across the world and legally couldn't tell a soul –or, more likely, had no advance notice to let anyone know. And sometimes she couldn't take her personal cell phone with her. It was always easier to catch up with her in person than by electronic means.

"I, uh, I keep bumping into my soul-bond," Steve admitted, tapping his fingers against his glass absently. He couldn't help himself –he scanned the pub quickly, relieved when he didn't spot Bucky nearby. "Like crazy coincidences. I joined this-this site for people like me, and it was a blind date set-up and he was there."

"Steven…" Peggy said gently, reaching over to set her hand atop his.

"Good news, I made a new friend," he said, deflecting from the heavier topic of Bucky. Clint was much easier to talk about. And Steve seldom made new friends –he was perfectly content to spend his time with Peggy, Sam and Riley for the rest of his life if need be. "He actually works at S.H.I.E.L.D. too."

Riley chuckled. "With as many people you know at S.H.I.E.L.D. you should really work for the company."

Steve was pretty sure he had never mentioned that he'd learned Bucky worked for S.H.I.E.L.D. to either of his friends. Which, factoring Bucky's ties to the company in, Steve understood Riley's point. "I probably only know half the company."

Peggy grinned, withdrawing her hand. "It's the better half, I hope. So who is this new mystery friend? Do I know him –or her?"

Steve rolled his eyes. "I have no idea. His name is Clint Barton."

"You're friends with Barton?" Peggy asked, with wide eyes. "Wow."

Steve frowned. "What do you mean, 'wow?'"

Peggy smiled, placating. "I just mean –Agent Barton has a reputation for being a hot mess. And you, Steven, are anything but that. Or if you are," she said, smiling, "then you don't show it. But I've been in the coffee room when Barton is there and he's like a small tornado of destruction."

"He's nice," Steve said defensively. He could imagine what she said was true though. Clint was a disaster. "He took me out to dinner last night."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Sam said, lifting a hand. "You didn't say anything about that. He took you to dinner."

Steve rolled his eyes. "He just needed someone to cover as his date. His friends were worried about him." True enough without compromising Clint's unique circumstances. He wasn't sure Clint would want anyone to know.

"That's a bit different," Sam said, his eyes wide.

"Sounds like an excuse to me," Riley said, taking a drink of his beer. "I mean, if I wanted to get a pretty guy out and was worried about whether or not he was into other men, I might make up a creative lie like that."

Steve nearly choked on his own drink. "Wha –no! _No_ , it wasn't like that."

"You sure?" Riley asked his grey eyes boring into Steve's. "No offense, but you can sometimes be pretty oblivious."

Steve turned faintly pink. Sam chuckled apologetically. "You gotta admit you are," he said gently. "Remember that time?"

"We _all_ remember that time," Steve huffed, rolling his eyes.

Six months ago, they'd decided to try going to a new bar and it ended disastrously. Mostly because Steve had been hit on by a very intoxicated woman –who, in his defense, had just been asking for a taxi ride home and asked that Steve go with her to make sure no guys tried anything untoward with her. Steve went with her. And his friends, his giant asshole friends, hadn't tried to stop him. By the time Steve had got her home, she was trying to drag him into her bedroom and she was undressing and it was the most of a woman Steve had seen up close and personal and he had fled after wishing her a goodnight and assuring her that she was beautiful. It wasn't like he hadn't known she was hitting on him, exactly, he was just worried about making sure she got home safely. He hadn't thought much of it beyond that, until she pulled her top off and pushed her breasts into his face. He wasn't oblivious.

"It was a work dinner and his co-worker who was going with him found herself a date. So he needed someone and I agreed."

"Oh the employee appreciation dinner," Peggy said, her eyes widening. "Only Agents with a clearance level above six can attend that, provided their partners pass several security clearances. He must have put a rush order on that if he only asked you yesterday." She paused. "And he would have had to know you pretty well to get that information without you knowing."

Steve shrugged. "I do work with S.H.I.E.L.D. all the time, I already had to fill out their security clearance papers in order to do my job."

Peggy clucked her tongue. "Still. You went to the Emperor Legacy as a fake-date-date?" She had that look on her face, the 'I-find-that-very-difficult-to-believe-Steven' one that she only ever seemed to use on him.

Steve squirmed in his seat. "Yes?"

"The Emperor Legacy?!" hissed Sam, eyes wide. "That isn't a fake-date-date place! That's like, I'm going to propose and blow two month's paycheques on dinner to ask for a serious commitment."

"It was a work dinner," Riley said thoughtfully. "How did you meet Agen –er, Clint?"

"I joined a site for people in my situation," Steve said uncomfortably. He didn't want to upset any of his friends or make them think that he hadn't felt like he could talk to them about issues in his life. It was just –they didn't _know_ what it was like. And Clint did. "I met him there. We started calling each other and texting and then he just, asked me if I'd go to his work dinner." Clint had made it pretty clear in his text that Steve was just there on a friend's basis. The fake dating, that had been entirely Steve's fault. "I was doing research on –well, if anyone had found a way to sever the bond successfully and he was a commenter and we just got talking."

"Huh," Riley said, taking a long drink from his beer.

Sam and Peggy exchanged a knowing look –and it was like they were high fiving each other with just eye contact. Steve really hated it when they did that.

"Maybe you should try asking him on a date," Peggy suggested.

"See if it goes anywhere," Sam said. "No harm if it doesn't."

Steve agreed uneasily. The difference between Clint and he, however, was the fact that Clint was _in_ love with his soul-bond. Steve was not. And Steve wasn't sure how, or even if, a relationship between he and Clint could work. Not when Clint was so in love with someone else. An even if Clint wanted to move on, wanted to leave Phil behind, he would never be able to sever that bond. And Steve, for the first time, thought he could understand Peggy's reasons for rejecting him a little better. Like Clint, he would never be able to sever himself from Bucky. He would never be able to wholly dedicate himself to someone else. Maybe he should try Clint, if Clint was interested. Because at least they would both be in the same sinking ship. Unable to let go and unable to move on.

* * *

" _Sergeant James Barnes found alive!" Christine Everhart announced delightedly, her voice filtering through the screen. "Missing in action, presumed dead, Sergeant James Barnes and his lieutenants –Dugan, Morita and Jones –have been found alive. I repeat. Sergeant James Barnes, and Lieutenants Timothy Dugan, Jim Morita and Gabriel Jones have been found alive. They were being held just forty miles north-east of the city they'd last been seen in."_

 _The pictures came next, of the soldiers as they appeared in their crisp and clean military uniforms. Just a week later, there was another news report of the soldiers as they arrived on American soil. James was hunched over, blue eyes wide with fear, flinching from the flashing camera as his unit closed rank around him. And then it was the footage that not even Steve could bear to look at –the recording that depicted the condition the men had been found in._

 _Two weeks after that, there was a televised event where Sergeant James Barnes was awarded several medals for acting bravely and acting with honor on the battlefield. Steve didn't pay much attention to what medals they were. He was paying attention to the way James' hand shook as he received his medals; at the way he took in the room without seeming to see anything. As the Secretary of Defense pinned the medals to the lapel of his jacket, Steve was transfixed at the silent tears that ran down the sergeant's face._

" _That poor man," Sarah murmured from her hospital bed. "I wish the press would just leave him alone." She changed the channel to a show about cooking._

 _The next day, Christine Everhart got her hands on the redacted medical files of Sergeant James Barnes. His name became a household name –the poor, brave sergeant who sacrificed himself. It was broadcast across every major news network and unavoidable to hear about but Steve tried his hardest. It felt like an invasion of privacy especially considering that the sergeant hadn't even made a statement. His family had though. They'd asked for the media to stop talking about it, to give their son a chance to heal without being barraged by paparazzi. It wasn't good for him right now, they said._

 _Over the next several days, it was revealed that the Bagalian troops who had held Sergeant James Barnes and Lieutenants Timothy Dugan, Jim Morita and Gabriel Jones had not followed Geneva conventions and the men responsible were being investigated by the U.N. Baron Zemo had already condemned the soldiers and distanced his government from the men responsible. The United Nations demanded that Bagalia hand over all documents pertaining to those troops. In the middle of all this, Sarah's health took a turn for the worst and Steve lost track of those developments. Right up until he met James Barnes in person. And then, Steve deliberately avoided any news surrounding the man. What curiosity remained, shrivelled and died with the echo of James' voice, telling Steve to jump in front of traffic._

* * *

Steve had decided to walk home after his monthly check-up with Dr. Erskine. He'd put on another five pounds this month, and he was finally starting to lose the appearance of being too skinny. He could see it in his reflection, in the broadness of his shoulders where he was starting to put muscle on. It was a novel experience. Dr. Erskine's office was home based, about an hour and a half walk away. Being able to walk that far without experiencing a crippling asthma attack, was still such a new experience that Steve actually enjoyed walking around Brooklyn. He was a quarter of the way home when he saw movement down a back-alley. It wasn't such a rough neighborhood that Steve was expected to steer clear, like when he'd been a kid (Brooklyn had cleaned up its streets a fair bit, chased the slums down further east) and he'd always been nosey. There were two guys, both of them easily six feet tall, laughing under their breath as they kicked at something on the ground. A heart-wrenching wail erupted and Steve didn't need to know any more than that as he ran towards the alley.

"Hey!" he shouted. "Hey –what do you think you're doing?!"

The men both turned towards him. They couldn't have been much older than sixteen or eighteen, either that or the one with the spotty peach fuzz just needed a good shave. "Fuck off," said the broader of the two.

"Ain't any of yer business, is it?" demanded the second.

Steve tried to peer past them, but they moved to block him. A tiny golden form raced out between the men's big legs to run between Steve's legs, whining and crying as only young puppies could. Steve felt his temper flare.

"Beating a dog –what, is that what you guys do for fun?" he demanded. "Oh, so big and tough, think I'll beat up a puppy?!" The animal couldn't have been much more than a month or two old.

"Fuck you, it was gonna die anyways!" the beefier guy shouted, taking a menacing step towards Steve. The puppy yiped in fear, as though someone had stepped on its tail at the man's approach. Steve saw the malicious grin of pleasure cross the man's face and he threw the first punch, colliding with the big man's nose.

It was the scraggly bearded kid who reacted faster, shoving Steve against the wall and getting a solid gut punch in. The beefier guy had recovered, oblivious or uninterested in the blood trickling from his nose as he punched Steve. Steve ducked, the blow glancing off the top of his head, still enough force for him to feel it down his spine. He charged the skinner guy, trying to use his low momentum to drag him to the alley floor but the bigger guy grabbed him by the back of his shirt and threw him to the ground. Steve rolled with it, carrying him out of the heavier man's kicking range and straight into the skinnier guy's range. The first kick landed solidly in Steve's gut and he curled up, trying to protect his stomach but the guy kicked at him some more. Steve groaned in pain, shifting, trying to see but only able to see biker boots come into his vision and he slammed his eyelids shut. Steve rolled onto his side, exposing his back to whoever was there as he attempted to get back up on his feet.

Someone shoved him back down again and he heard the slimmer of the two men laugh. "What is this –he doesn't even know how to fight!" he mocked. "It's easier than stealing candy from a baby!"

Another boot caught him in the stomach, the toe of the boot driving between Steve's skinny arms and driving the air out of his lungs. Steve gasped for air, choking on it. He couldn't breathe. _He couldn't breathe_. Steve tried to gasp in air, but he spasmed with pain and the fact that there were two guys trying to beat him up became a distant fact as he tried to get to his feet. But he couldn't. He was going to die. He was going to die in an alley, gasping for breath as the small puppy he'd tried to rescue howled. The guys were laughing, callous and cruel, taking turns kicking him around. Steve had no choice but to go where they directed as his limbs got shaky, as his vision got spotty. _He was going to die_. He attempted to take a breath again and got his face shoved against the asphalt in reward. He tasted the dirt in his mouth. He couldn't move. _He was dying_.

No, he wasn't. He was not dying. He was panicking and he –he needed to stop. He needed to stop. Steve spotted a pair of combat boots enter his vision and he clenched his eyes shut, wheezing out a faint and shaky, "Stop." He didn't know why he expected it to work, to have some effect. These sickos had been beating up a puppy. For fun. Why would they listen to a weak human?

He was dying.

A boot caught him in the side, sending him flying and he didn't even have the breath to cry out in pain, feeling hot agony bloom on his side. He fumbled, trying to get his hands up to stop the fall, to lessen the fall but it did nothing. His knee landed against the wall, sending a tremoring line of hot pain up from his knee. And then, the puppy was at his side, sticking its cold nose against his face and then licking him. Steve fumbled out, trying to move the _stupid thing_ , it was going to get hurt and he couldn't let it get hurt. The pup growled and bit his hand gently, not drawing blood and jammed its nose back at Steve's head and Steve sucked in a fast and hard bubble of air. Distantly, he could hear the sounds of fighting but he didn't understand. The puppy shoved its nose at his face again, getting too close to his eye and he flinched back, gulping down a breath of air. He staggered to his feet coughing, and landed hard against the alley wall.

In front of him, there was a man with short brown hair in a pair of combat boots throwing the two guys around like it was easy. He blocked a punch from the bulkier man and turned into it, adjusting the guy's momentum and sending him careening into his friend. They went down hard, tangled in each other. The man with the combat boots tugged his leather coat back into place and watched the two guys scornfully.

"You idiots done now?" he demanded, voice low and hoarse.

The puppy was sitting beside Steve's foot, tail wagging so hard it was sending out a cloud of dust. Steve's hands fluttered at his chest, feeling the way he was breathing, slow and even. He was breathing. He was breathing. He looked down at the puppy slowly, wonderingly.

"He fuckin' started it!" swore scraggly beard, getting to his feet. His face was bright red. "He should've minded his own business."

Steve's combat boot wearing rescuer took a step forward and scraggly beard stumbled backwards, eyes wide with terror. "You could've killed him!"

"They. Were. Attacking. Dog," Steve wheezed, forcing the words out. His stomach and chest ached, still feeling compressed. Great. Getting the wind knocked out of him had triggered his asthma which had triggered a panic attack. He fumbled with his pockets, pulling out the inhaler he carried with him just in case. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had an asthma attack.

His rescuer turned back towards the men and the two of them stumbled off, fleeing, pushing and shoving at each other like Steve's rescuer was a bear and whoever got left behind was going to get eaten. Steve's rescuer turned around and if Steve had any energy left to be shocked, he would have been.

"Hey pal, you okay?" Bucky asked, blue eyes concerned.

Steve shook his head and then quickly nodded it. He wasn't okay, it was Bucky. Why was Bucky here? He really didn't need Bucky. "Asthma," he wheezed, taking a shot of his inhaler.

Bucky's eyes narrowed and he opened his mouth but before he could say anything, the little puppy barrelled into his leg. Steve slid down the wall, leaning against it hard as he focused on breathing. He didn't think Bucky was the type of person to hurt a puppy. He adjusted his position, consciously making sure his airway was open and relaxed as he concentrated on counting out sixty breaths. By the time he hit forty, he could feel the tension around his chest slacken off. When he hit sixty, Steve let out a long, slow breath and leaned his head back. He opened his eyes and found Bucky sitting cross-legged on crumbling asphalt and grass, the puppy in his lap, tail wagging.

"Better?" Bucky asked, peering at him nervously.

Steve nodded, wishing he had something to drink.

"I didn't know you were asthmatic," Bucky said, after a moment had passed.

Steve smiled bitterly. "We don't really know each other," he pointed out. "Lots of things we don't know about each other." He swallowed roughly.

Bucky pet the puppy, scratching behind its ear. "Do you wanna –like, rest at my place?" He cringed. "I mean, I live next door." He pointed at the building Steve was currently leaning against. "You can catch your breath or whatever. And pets are allowed, so we can check this guy out. Maybe find a veterinarian we can take him to?"

Steve smiled in spite of himself. "Him?" he asked.

Bucky rolled his eyes. "He's a feisty little guy. I saw the way he got you breathing again. Just seems like a boy."

Steve got to his feet slowly, wincing at the pain. He hoped he hadn't broken any ribs. Bucky got to his feet quickly, scooping the puppy up in his human hand. The puppy didn't look even faintly concerned, tongue lolling out of its mouth, bright brown eyes taking in its surroundings. Bucky didn't quite offer Steve a hand, but he walked slow and purposefully up the three stairs to his apartment building. Steve followed him inside, wincing at stabbing pain in his side each step he took. Bucky started in towards the elevator and Steve followed him inside, relieved to not have to risk the stairs. The puppy poked its cold nose up at Bucky's neck and Bucky gave a soft, tender sounding chuckle as he pushed the top floor button.

"I ah, I thought you might have been down for the count," Bucky admitted, when the elevator chimed as it started to rise. Bucky shifted his position, taking the corner and keeping his back against it, his eyes on Steve.

"I was having a panic attack," Steve admitted awkwardly. "Luckily the little guy was there to jolt me out of it." It wasn't like it was the first time he'd come close to dying, either.

"Was it getting your ass kicked or the asthma that triggered it?" Bucky asked, petting the puppy.

Steve frowned and glanced at him. "Getting the wind knocked out of me triggered the asthma, triggered the panic attack," he explained impatiently. "It would take a lot more than a fight for me to have a panic attack." At the rate he got into fights, if he had a panic attack each time, he would probably be dead by now because his heart couldn't handle the stress.

Bucky nodded thoughtfully. "What were you doing taking on those two anyways?"

"They were going to kill the puppy," Steve said through gritted teeth.

"Well," Bucky said slowly, his focus on the pup. "I'm glad you stepped in, but you should know how to defend yourself at least."

"How long were you standing around watching me get my ass kicked without doing anything about it?" Steve demanded. "Because I was fine up until they got me on the ground."

Bucky glanced at him, quirking an eyebrow. "Yeah?" he said. "Didn't look like it to me."

"I was fine. And I do know how to fight!" He'd been in enough fights by now…

"Well, buddy, as someone who was in the army for a while, I've got a few critiques of your fighting style."

"What, you gonna give me lessons next?"

Bucky shrugged, shifting his hold on the puppy. "If that's what it takes to keep you from getting killed on the streets, sure. If you're interested."

Peggy had given him a few basic lessons, but the last time they'd tried sparring, Peggy had been overzealous and Steve had ended up with a sprained wrist and a rolled ankle. In his opinion, it'd been mostly his fault but Peggy refused to teach him after that. She'd had a rough day, as Steve recalled, because Thompson had put her back on desk duty after he claimed her mission success for himself. And Sam was too stubborn on trying to get Steve to "see reason" so he refused. Sam would rather that Steve phone the police or try and talk people down. But words never stopped anybody from doing anything they were set on and sometimes the police never came at all. They wouldn't have come to save the puppy that Bucky was holding in his hands now.

Was Steve interested? Absolutely. But this was Bucky. And he was less certain of how he felt about that. "I –I am."

Bucky flashed him a bright smile. "Great!"

The elevator dinged as it came to a stop and Bucky walked out into the hallway, his shoulders dropping as he walked to the end of the hallway and with one hand unlocked his door. He waved Steve in, not even looking the slightest bit hesitant. Steve followed him, in disbelief. Bucky's apartment was –homey. Steve wasn't sure what he'd been expecting it to be decorated like, but how this hadn't been it. It was one of the older apartment buildings of Brooklyn, with a red brick kitchen. The appliances were mismatched, signs of changing tenants or a cheap owner. The stove was stainless steel but the fridge was a bulky, white behemoth that took up a little too much space. There was an old, stained coffee pot balanced at the end of the countertops, crammed in beside a toaster and what looked like an old microwave.

It was an open floorplan because next to the kitchen, which was maybe big enough for one Bucky sized person to use, was the living room. Bucky gestured to his worn sofa and Steve sat down awkwardly. The couch was comfortable. It was worn down in a way that was homey rather than cheap. There were three books stacked on the end of the coffee table –one was something complicated to do with space-time travel theories, the second was a classic action thriller and the third Steve was surprised to see had to do with rejected soul-bonds. He felt his soul soar in delight, as though it meant something significant. If he was in Bucky's shoes, if he were so adamant against a soul-bond, Steve was pretty sure the book was research to see if there was a way to undo a soul-bond. Steve had searched for that same answer twenty times or more. But the answer was always the same. There was no way to untie two souls that had been bound together.

"Do you want anything to drink?" Bucky offered, halfway between the kitchen and the couch.

"Water," Steve said gratefully. Bucky ran the water cooler and filled a glass up. He brought it to Steve, handing it to him carefully. Steve took the glass, wincing slightly as he took a long, refreshing drink.

"Your hands!" Bucky said, alarmed.

The puppy poked its head up from where it was lying on the floor, looking between them worriedly, ears perked upright. As Steve glanced at his hands, he caught sight of the pup lying back down. His palms were cut up from where he'd tried to stop his fall. Looking at them, Steve could feel the dull ache there. Mostly, he was aware of the sharper throbbing emanating from his ribs and the faint twinging in his knee.

"They're fine."

"They'll get infected!" Bucky hissed, hurrying out of the room. "You're an artist. No way you're gonna lose your hands on me."

Steve sighed. "That's ridiculous –it's not like they're going to fall off because there's a little grit in them. I've had worse." And he'd also left his hands unattended for longer, but it was nice of Bucky to fuss.

"Just shut up and let me fix them," Bucky said, walking over with a pair of tweezers, medical tape, gauze and disinfectant.

"It's really not that serious," Steve said, turning his palms up. "Really." He was more than familiar on how to deal with scraped skin. He was a smaller guy and, typically, bigger, taller guys liked to shove the shorter ones around a lot.

"Just let me do this," Bucky said, exasperated. "It's not going to kill you if I do this."

"I could be allergic to that disinfectant," Steve argued, just to be an ass.

Bucky arched a brow at him. "Are you?" He had the cap off already, pausing in his motion to apply it to the tweezers.

"No, but I could be."

Bucky snorted out a laugh. "Yeah, okay, big guy."

Bucky was surprisingly gentle as he methodically dug the bigger pieces of gravel out. There wasn't much, which Steve was grateful for. It was never a pleasant experience to have to dig gravel out of flesh. Watching Bucky do it only made the pain worse as his attention was focused on Bucky's larger hands around his, patiently dabbing the disinfectant over the open cuts before wrapping gauze around his palms.

It was terrifyingly intimate; Bucky kneeling on the carpet, his focus solely on patching Steve up. From his angle, Steve could see Bucky's eyelashes. He was so close. It was intimidating and terrifying and for one sudden, painful moment, Steve wanted to jerk away and run out the front door. Because it was too much. He wasn't sure what happened, whether it was his walls surrendering in the moment or if it was Bucky's emotions over spilling but Steve could feel the gentle caress of Bucky's concern wash over him.

"You got any other scratches?" Bucky asked, taping the gauze in place.

"No," Steve managed to say, but it was like pulling a tooth out to form the word. He wanted to say plenty of other words –he wanted to know why. He wanted to know what was so different now.

"Okay. Well, you shouldn't lose your hands at this rate," Bucky said, pulling back with an easy grin.

Steve reached for his water, taking a long drink to avoid having to fill the space. He wasn't sure what to say. Or what could be said.

"I've got two younger siblings," Bucky said, abruptly. "I –this is, just… what I do." He ducked his head awkwardly. "I know I've been an ass, but I swear I didn't mean to be! Like when I gave you my card. I really… I meant it."

"Felt more like pity," Steve said tightly, tensing. It was coming. Any minute now, Bucky was going to kick him out of his apartment. Or find another insecurity of Steve's to expose. Maybe he'd start laughing at how Steve had gotten beat up.

"I –I get how. But I'm really sorry about that." Bucky shrugged awkwardly. "I know you're soul-bound to me. And I –I'm working on that. How to feel about it, how to –I don't know, deal with it?" Bucky sighed, raking a hand through his hair. "But I know you're a good guy. Not many people would run through traffic to save someone's life."

Steve stared at him suspiciously. "Okay," he said slowly, like he was testing out the word.

"I –I don't think I've ever actually thanked you for doing that," Bucky said, faintly. "And I want to because I'm in a better place. And I wouldn't be if it weren't for you. It's not like –I can't ever repay you for that. But I'd like to start by making amends at least."

Steve glanced away, uncomfortable. He didn't want gratitude. He didn't know what he actually wanted. What was he even supposed to say to that? 'You're welcome?'

"And how are you going to do that?" Steve asked, feeling suddenly tired. His head was pounding, his ribs were aching and his knee sure wasn't happy either.

Bucky opened and closed his mouth, brows drawing together in thought. "I'd like to try and be your friend. You're not –you're not a bad guy and I'm sorry I thought you were."

"You were upset," Steve acknowledged. His soul was practically doing loop-de-loops it was so ecstatic. Bucky wanted to be involved in Steve's life.

Bucky smiled wryly. "You saved my life. I treated you like crap. Being upset doesn't really –it shouldn't factor into this. This is just. Being a decent human being."

"I soul-bond myself to you without your permission, without even knowing if it was something you would want."

Bucky's smile withered. "What's in the past is in the past. I mean obviously not for you, but for me –" Bucky stopped, sighing heavily. "For me, I just want to put that into the past. Not the part where you are," he paused again, gesturing between them, like it was too much to even mention that they were soul-bound.

"You want a clean slate?" Steve offered, smiling in spite of himself.

"Yes!" Bucky said.

Steve honestly wasn't sure how something like that would work. And it wasn't like he could say that Bucky was asking for too much. They _had_ met under terrible circumstances –Steve had soul-bound him and to Bucky, that was obviously a big deal. On the other side, Bucky had told Steve to go die and as far as first impressions went, Steve thought it might be safe to say that there was no way to make a worst impression than what they had managed to accomplish. Honestly, Steve was willing to let that be in the past. The handful of times they'd met since then, Bucky had been polite and sociable. Nice, even, if a little awkward. Steve thought of Clint then, of how Clint had said being platonic friends had changed nothing, it was just an alleviation of the draining emotions received through the bond. And Steve thought about the last six years, about the long and restless nights, and the nightmares that didn't belong to him. And he thought, he thought maybe it might be worth it.

"I think that's a great idea."

"Before we make it official though," Bucky said, smiling playfully. "I just have one thing to say. And if you hate it, we can just, pretend I didn't say it."

Steve narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

"Just… promise me no more fights until I've taught you how to defend yourself, okay? You got off lucky today."

Steve rolled his eyes. "You know, the definition of a fresh start is just that. You can't hold me getting into a fight against me now."

Bucky smiled. "Well, okay, if that's how it has to be." He took a deep breath and held his hand out. "I'm Bucky Barnes."

Steve smiled slightly, shaking his hand. "Steve Rogers."


	7. Outlaws of Love

"What do you mean, you agreed to start over?" Clint demanded. "It's not going to get easier."

"I know!" Steve said, frustrated. "He deserves a second chance. As much as I deserve one with him."

Maybe, if Bucky stopped holding the soul-bond against Steve they would have a chance at friendship. It was easy enough to let go of the words Bucky had said so many years ago. It was harder to stay positive on how things might go between them. Even with Sam's support. Steve just wanted a break. A break from everything to do with his soul-bond and maybe he would find it in friendship. And if he didn't, at least he could understand the nightmares or the emotions that would flow through him.

Clint exhaled slowly, whistling under his breath. "It's your choice to make." The 'don't say I didn't tell you so' hung unspoken in the air between them.

"Peggy already gave me a thorough lecture," Steve sighed. "I don't need one from you too."

Clint shrugged easily. "Good thing I don't like giving lectures," he teased lightly, stabbing at his fries with a fork. "What'd you want to talk about anyway?"

Steve winced. Had he been that obvious? "I, uh, I found a dog."

Clint's eyes widened. "Oh no. No way. Nope. You are not getting me to adopt your strays."

"He's only two months old," Steve said, setting his burger down.

"Nope. No. Absolutely not."

"You haven't even met him."

"Don't need to. Can't have pets in my apartment."

"Don't you own your apartment building?" Steve pointed out, arching a brow.

"If I show up with a dog, next day Jessica'll be by with a cat. I'm _allergic_ to cats, Steve. And then the kids downstairs are going to want a pet and what am I going to do then?"

Steve stared at him in disbelief. "Let them?" It would be up to the kids' parents in the end. It really didn't have much to do with Clint.

"I don't like dogs."

"I _just_ saw you pet that stray outside."

"That's Lucy –Lucy's a special case."

"I've seen you stare longingly at every dog we pass."

"I was checking to make sure it wasn't Lucy."

"Clint."

" _Steve_."

"I can't keep him at my apartment; I'm not home often enough."

"I travel out of the country at a moment's notice," Clint pointed out triumphantly. "I'd be worse."

"You have to know somebody."

"Nope."

Steve sighed heavily. "I can't keep him either and I'm worried that if I drop him off at a shelter, he'll get euthanized. He's a rescue pup, Clint."

It was Clint's turn to sigh. "I can ask my brother. He has a farm or whatever, maybe they'll want him. What breed?" He pulled his cell phone out.

"Golden lab," Steve said, watching attentively. "I didn't know you had a brother."

"Just the one," Clint replied. "He's rougher around the edges than I am." He glanced at Steve. "And believe me, that's saying something. Also, he's married with two kids." Clint shook his head. "I don't even know how he managed it. Laura's way too good for him."

"You're an uncle?"

Clint grinned, rubbing the back of his head. "Yeah, I guess I am."

It was easy to picture Clint like that –the goofy uncle who spoiled his nieces and nephews rotten and he was probably the only one in the family who got into more trouble than the children. It was a good mental image of Clint. By the time they'd finished their lunch, Clint's brother still hadn't replied so they called it quits and each of them headed home. When Steve got back to his place, for the first time in a long time, his fingers were itching to draw. Steve turned his phone on silent, moved a couple of things around and picked up a pencil. He drew for hours, until his hand was cramped so badly he couldn't move it. He ordered in from a local place, called it a night and went to bed.

 _Hot air licked across his face, leaving a trail of sweat that the billowy sand stuck to like there was no better place for it. He blinked against it, stumbling along after the men, unable to fight back, unable to get the sand in his eyes out. His arm was aching. His feet were sweltering. Ahead of him was a broad shouldered man and ahead of him was another man, smaller, and beyond him was the enemy. They were all tied together like horses on a lead rope, too weak and delirious to do anything other than stumble after their captors blindly. And even if they could have escaped, they were in the middle of a desert. His back was drenched in sweat and he shuddered involuntarily, acutely aware of the way his clothing was sticking to his body. Ahead of him, the broad shouldered man stumbled and swayed dangerously for a minute. He opened his mouth to say something, consequences be damned, but the big guy righted himself at the last minute and kept walking. He didn't know how long they'd been walking, or where they were going. It had been days though. Days with just a cup of water, barely enough to subsist on, provided only at night. He didn't know how much longer they could last. He didn't want to find out._

 _The rope was pulled taunt abruptly and he was in the middle of trying to get his face out of the wind, out of the sand that was burning his eyes when he fell face first into it. They shouted at him but no one had taught him the language. They'd said it was just a recon mission, just go into the city, take a peek around, report back. They lied. He stared impassively at his captor, flinching back when the man approached. Out of nowhere, there was an explosion. Blood splattered over him. The ground shook and he lost his footing and it went dark. There was a ringing in his ears and when he was able to see next, able to stand, it was to see the remains of his captor smoking on the sand next to him. Around them, chaos bloomed as men and women the color of the sand rose from dunes around them, highly advanced weapons in their hands. He couldn't hear anything beyond the ringing in his ears and the fiery pain in his side demanded attention and he looked –_ but he shouldn't have _. The sound of his hoarse scream, even deafened, echoed in his ears._

Steve woke up, a shout dying on his lips. His hair was plastered against his forehead and he'd sweated through his sheets again. Next to him, his phone rang. He fumbled to grab it, staring at the name in confusion for a long moment before he accepted the call. That was the first time he'd actually been inside the nightmare, instead of just drawing the emotions of it away.

"I read somewhere, that soul-bonds, that they get nightmares too," Bucky said quietly, his voice shaking. It was barely noticeable.

"Yeah," Steve answered hoarsely. "I saw it."

There was silence. Then: "Fuck. You shouldn't have to see that."

"I've never seen them before now," Steve admitted. "Just a bunch of feelings, mostly." He swallowed hard. He could feel the tidal wave of panic washing over him but he dug his feet in and took a deep breath. He refused to let Bucky's emotions take over his own.

"I've been to f-fucking hell and back. You don't need to see that shit too." Bucky took a deep, shaky breath. "Fuck, experience just the emotions. You don't need that."

"Neither do you," Steve replied softly, tiredly.

"I lived it," Bucky said harshly.

"I'm not so self-sacrificing as to say that I'm glad I get to experience it or something equally stupid," Steve said after a moment of silence, trying to find something to say. "But I'm glad you don't have to do it alone."

Bucky was quiet for a beat. "Six years you been living with the emotions of my nightmares?"

"Yeah," Steve admitted quietly. It was four in the morning. He was tired. His body was aching and his clothes were stuck to his body. His sheets smelled like perspiration.

"I never even knew," Bucky growled.

"It's not so bad now," Steve said, aiming for optimism. "Back then I was living as an insomniac. I couldn't fall asleep or stay asleep without fear."

Bucky cursed. "I'm sorry. You don't need this."

Steve covered a yawn. "Maybe I do, if it means you get to stay alive."

Bucky sighed quietly and Steve heard a soft yip through the line. "Yeah, okay, boy," Bucky murmured, and there was the sound of rustling and a pleased whimper from their rescue dog. "You found a place for him yet or are we still doing this whole shared custody thing?"

Steve chuckled weakly, getting out of bed reluctantly. "Not yet."

"I don't mind," Bucky said suddenly. "This little guy woke me up from that nightmare, from the worst part of it."

Steve could imagine him petting the pup they'd rescued. Steve wondered how much worse the nightmare got –whether Bucky had lost someone, or if it was how he'd lost his arm. He shuddered involuntarily. "That's good."

Bucky cursed under his breath. "It's four in the fuckin' morning. Shit. And I woke you up with my bullshit."

"I was already awake," Steve said quietly.

Bucky swore again. "I'm sorry. I'll let you try and get some sleep."

Before Steve could say anything, Bucky had hung up. Steve stared at his phone for a long moment before going to his contacts. He pulled up Clint's name.

To Clint: You ever get to see your soul-bonded's nightmares? Full in color and all that.

Steve got up, shoving his phone into his pocket as he tore the sheets off his bed. He knew he wasn't going to get back to sleep and he was dying to do something. To chase off the edges of his nightmare –of Bucky's nightmare. He was drawn to the work he'd started earlier in the day and he set it aside, pulling up a new blank canvas. He got out his paints, an image already in his mind. When his alarm went off two hours later, the painting was nearly done. His stomach clenched painfully as he actually looked at what he'd painted. A desert. A line of soldiers, cuffed together, marching through the sand. One of the soldiers had his face turned, towards the viewer, eyes haunted and fearful as he lost his grip. Steve set the picture aside to dry, wincing.

He started the shower and took his phone out, surprised to notice there was a message waiting for him. He hadn't even noticed it going off. It had been sent an hour ago.

From Clint: Yeah, all the time. Side effects of being so close to your bonded. Wait until the sex dreams kick in.

Steve jumped a little as his phone vibrated again.

From Clint: You wanna talk about it?

Steve smiled weakly.

To Clint: Yeah.

* * *

Steve wasn't entirely sure how it happened, but having lunch with Clint became as regular as going out with Sam on the weekends and having a morning run with Peggy. It was natural and normal. And even though Clint spent way too long arguing about the benefits of having pizza for lunch nearly every day, Steve usually convinced him to try out the new vegan hot dog seller or the little bodega down five blocks. It got to be so regular that Tony had upgraded Clint to a regular guest so that J.A.R.V.I.S. would stop announcing his arrival. And despite the fact that Bucky came in every two weeks for check-ups and measurements, Steve started to see Clint more often than he saw Bucky. Although, he and Bucky met up once a week to trade puppy-sitting duties until they could find an owner for the little guy.

Clint didn't approve that Steve was spending any time with his soul-bonded. He didn't say it often, but his face would get that pinched look around it. And whenever Steve tried to get him to talk about it, the only thing that Clint would say was that the closer he got to Bucky, the harder it would get. The nightmares were worse –there was no blocking them out, now. They were high-definition movies that just took over. In the last month, none of them had been quite as bad as the first nightmare. Bucky called after them, every once in a while. Mostly to apologize, or to ask to talk to the pup if he was at Steve's. It was funny that the only name they'd been able to agree on had been the nickname Clint had given the dog.

"Boy, he's a little lucky isn't he?" Clint had said, crouching down to pet him. "Saved by two superheroes in a back alley –tell me you weren't wearing a cape."

Steve had just rolled his eyes. "No, I didn't wear a cape."

"Good," Clint said happily, rubbing the little guy's stomach. "He really is lucky then, didn't have to see you tripping over your feet!"

He hadn't noticed it right away, but he started to call the little guy Lucky and then, it was suddenly his name. Or as much of a name as Steve could bear to give the fellow. He didn't want to get attached. And he knew Bucky felt the same, as they were both trying to find a home for him.

Sometimes, when he and Clint met for lunch, Clint would talk about Phil. He would talk about how Phil was the first person to see some good in Clint, how Phil had gotten Clint to where he was now in S.H.I.E.L.D. Mostly, when Clint talked about him, it was with quiet respect and a lot of love. Steve learned more about Clint through the things that Clint _would not_ talk about. For instance, Clint refused to go anywhere near the topic of Phil's girlfriend –and while Steve could understand that, he also wanted to know more. Clint was scared that Audrey would cause Phil to retire early, that she would replace Clint's friendship with her presence. The only thing Clint wanted in the whole world was to stay Phil's friend. To that end, he endured being the third wheel like a champion. Steve both envied and admired Clint for how well he could manage to be the third wheel, for how much time Clint spent in Phil's company. But Clint had his own answers about that too.

"I love him," Clint had admitted quietly, staring into his coffee mug. "It would hurt me more to lose him than to never have had him at all. At least this way, I don't know what I'm missing out on."

Steve set his hand over Clint's. "You've got my friendship too," he said earnestly.

Clint smiled, his whole face softening with it. "Thanks, Steve."

The first time Steve invited Clint over, it was just so he could grab a schematic for Tony that he'd left at home. It was how Clint ended up meeting Lucky. Clint wasn't in his apartment for longer than five minutes before they were leaving again. The second time was with an armful of groceries and easy laughter between them, months after the first time. Since he'd mentioned Clint to his friends, both Sam and Peggy had been asking after him, wanting to know if Steve had invited Clint over to his apartment yet. Neither were happy with what they called his 'progress.' Steve wasn't sure what he was supposed to be progressing exactly, because he was pretty happy with what he had. He was pretty sure Clint wouldn't see him that way anyways –the man was head over heels in love with someone else for starters. But he wasn't going to share that with Sam or Peggy, even if just to get them to stop their well-intentioned encouragement.

Steve's apartment wasn't much to look at. He had a few of his better pieces hanging on the wall, some cheaper yet inspiring pieces collecting dust next to his own art. The walls were beige and cream, bland and soul-sucking which is what had inspired him to decorate a little. It wasn't anything classy but it was home. His kitchen was small and cramped together, with a little island in the middle before the dining room space. The dining room encroached into the living room where he kept a comfortable sofa and a small television. In the corner, tucked up against the window was a cluttered bookshelf. There were paperbacks strewn on every surface and his laptop was resting on the living room table, between three John Grisham books. Clint nodded approvingly as he set a bag of groceries onto the island countertop.

"It feels homey here," he announced, taking the apples out and plopping them into the fruit bowl. "Like a soccer mom who shares custody with her ex."

Steve made a face. "Just because I use coasters and a fruit bowl –"

"Makes you a little bit of an old lady," Clint teased. "Next you'll be telling me that you read the news every morning too."

"Old men do that too," Steve countered, pulling out a bag of spinach.

Clint snorted. "Yeah okay, protect your gender, not your age. And by the way –I was pretty sure on the gender part, I mean just look at you!" Clint waved a hand at his body.

Steve dropped the bag of onions he'd just taken out of the bag, and to his horror felt a blush crawling up his face. He –he really wasn't that much to look at. But the lightness of how Clint had said it… Clint was smiling at him. Really smiling at him. His eyes were crinkled in amusement and he looked entirely at ease. Clint never seemed to relax; he was always alert, checking his surroundings. But he was leaning against Steve's island, tossing an apple between his hands.

"What?" Clint finally asked. "You're easy on the eyes, not gonna lie."

Steve bent down to pick up the bag of onions, avoiding having to answer. He knew he wasn't much to look at. He was still fairly scrawny, and short. He was at least two to four inches shorter than Clint. There weren't a lot of people he'd asked out, or tried to. In high school, it had resulted in effeminate giggles and a horrifyingly sincere apology followed by the fact that he was just "too cute" or "too short" to date. In college it mostly resulted in muffled laughter and a condescending "you're not my type." When people tried to hit on him, it was mostly to compliment how adorable he was, how he must be flexible, how easy it would be to pick up him and fuck him against a surface. Steve for the most part, thought of himself as the tiny nineteen year old that no one wanted. He still felt like he was a bony boy in a man's body, all of five foot four and one hundred pounds in sopping wet clothes. Steve didn't know how to respond to Clint. He had no idea and if he spent any longer on the floor, picking up a bag full of onions, Clint was going to know something was going on if he didn't already. Steve stood up nervously ashamed.

"Hey," Clint said lightly, still smiling. He'd put the rest of the fruit away and there was a _look_ on his face that Steve couldn't decipher. "If you wanted to bend down again, I wouldn't mind, I mean it was a nice view too." He laughed at the look on Steve's face.

Steve rolled his eyes and set the onions on the counter. "Keep your eyes up here, buddy," he joked.

Clint stepped around the island and he was suddenly right against Steve. His blue eyes were on Steve's, locked on like a target. "Right here?" Clint asked, voice low. "Or," and he dramatically lowered his gaze a fraction, "should I keep 'em right here?"

Steve swallowed; his mouth was suddenly dry. His tongue darted out, sweeping across his lips and he saw Clint's gaze chase his tongue. "There's good," he said, his voice raspier than expected.

Clint grinned, eyes darting back to Steve's, a mischievous glint in them. "You don't say."

And then he was leaning in, pressing his lips against Steve's. It was a brief, chaste kiss and as Clint pulled away, Steve chased him, kissing him in return. It was decidedly less chaste as Clint's lips parted and Steve could taste the coffee he'd just been drinking. Clint's hands were on his shoulders, just the faintest of pressure, like he was trying to keep them from touching completely. Steve set his hand on Clint's waist as they kissed.

Clint pulled back again, a grin tugging at his lips. "Wasn't sure you'd be into it," he said, a little breathless.

"Definitely into it," Steve replied, brushing the hair out of his face. "Definitely."

Clint chuckled. "Yeah, I can see that," and this time when he looked at Steve, he let his gaze linger and wander and he was shameless about it.

"We should –we should finish putting the groceries away before we forget."

Clint agreed easily enough and Steve wondered when exactly their friendship had changed. And he wondered, if he pursued Clint much longer, how much of Clint he would actually be able to have. They put the groceries away in companionable silence and seamlessly moved into cooking dinner without talking about the important things. They talked about sports, about their jobs, about Lucky. But they didn't talk about them. They didn't talk about what would come next. They talked about how great dinner smelled. They sat down at the small three-person table Steve had, steaks medium rare served with Clint's favorite brand of beer. It was cheap and tasted like it, but Steve didn't mind.

Hanging out with Clint was easy. Clint was always funny, with quips and sarcasm ready to go and an easygoing nature that Steve appreciated. Clint was fun and uncomplicated. They gravitated into the living room and Clint put on a sports game and they were heckling the referees and their teams, each other, when it happened. Steve felt a hot stab of shame pierce through his gut as goosebumps rose along his bare arms. He mumbled an excuse and just had enough time to make it to his bathroom before he was throwing up.

Steve shuddered, clutching at the toilet bowl, suddenly burning with a heat that wasn't his own. Phantom touches dragged down his chest, down his abs, down lower still. His stomach heaved again and he fumbled for an embarrassingly long time to flush the contents away. His hands were shaking. It had come on faster this time, harder and more merciless. Steve ripped his shirt off angrily, groaning in discomfort. Bucky was –Bucky was having sex. Steve wished he didn't know. Steve dry heaved, spitting out bile, coughing with the effort. His body was trembling. It was too hot, it was too much and oh gross. He dry heaved again, stomach clenching and shaking with the effort.

Clint knocked on the door and Steve realized with horror that he hadn't shut the door behind him. "It's okay," Clint said, smiling gently as he knelt down beside Steve. "Not your fault."

Steve expected Clint to make excuses and leave, but instead Clint grabbed a wash cloth and wiped the sweat from his brow. He kept up an easy flow of mindless conversation and somewhere between telling Steve about the time he broke his arm and the time he'd broke his wrist, Steve found himself lying on the cool tiles and looking up at Clint. Distantly, he was too-aware of what exactly Bucky was doing and a spasm of pain wracked his body. Clint just sat down on folded legs, dabbing the cold washcloth down his forehead, to his neck.

"I ever tell you how I ended up at S.H.I.E.L.D?" Clint asked.

Steve shook his head, in too much pain and discomfort to manage a verbal response. The heat was still attempting to take him over, but the cold droplets of water ran down his back and Steve shivered, nuzzling towards the cold cloth.

"I was this real, this real punk kid," Clint explained. "I had a real chip on my shoulder, y'know. Grew up dirt poor. There were kids who'd talk about getting allowances while I was collecting shiners at home." He laughed blackly. "Ended up in the system, for a bit, my brother and me. Didn't like it there –same problems we'd had at home, 'cept they tried to keep me and Barn apart and there were more kids around.

"We see this advertisement for a circus coming through town and we take off. Not like we had anything better going for us. So we joined up. I had more free time than Barn, snuck off with a knife and I'd watch the knife throwing acts and practice with stationary targets. I was good, guess I was too good because I got noticed by Duquesne and Chisholm. They trained me up good. I practiced until my fingers bled, until my arms were straining with pain and I did it day and night. I was _good_." Clint barked out a morose laugh. "And you know what? I was proud of it. And one day, I see Duquesne and Barn leavin' the show so I follow 'em. They'd been buying everyone drinks lately, suspicious things for a couple of carneys who couldn't even afford a decent meal.

"I watched 'em break into this real nice house and come out with some jewels and it didn't take much to realize the rash of robbery increases every town we went to were 'cuz of them. I confronted them. Call them both a pair of idiots, they were gonna bring the whole show to an end because they couldn't bother to do something a little less illegal." Clint paused, running the cloth under cold water before returning. "Duquesne shot me three times, with arrows, pinned me to a tree for my troubles."

Steve grunted in discomfort, feeling about ready to crawl out of his skin. His soul was screaming in pain, a sad and withered thing, trying to reach through a glass wall to call for its other half. Steve made an effort to listen to Clint, to follow his story because he cared. He wanted to know more about his friend. Neither of them had spoken much about their childhoods and Steve could understand why now.

"And so I'm sittin' in my hospital bed, sore and stitched up and unable to leave without maybe dying when this FBI agent shows up." Clint laughed a little at that. "It was Phil. He told me he worked for this company and that he wanted to ask me some questions. I told him to fuck off." Clint dragged the cold, damp cloth down Steve's chest. "I was an angry seventeen year old punk, abandoned by the only family I'd ever known. Phil promised he could give me a better future, but I needed to talk about what happened. I guess Duquesne had been working for this real shady organization –Hydra, as they called themselves, and Phil was trying to put a stop to them. I didn't believe him –Duquesne was a drunk, barely sober for more'n five minutes combined, no criminal organization would be interested in the likes of him.

"And Phil, he sits down and tells me I'm a hero and that I can save a lot of people a lot of trouble. I can save my brother. And it's probably a spiel he's given plenty of times, but I believed him. He told me he believed in me, that he knew I had good in me. Nicest thing anybody'd ever said to me was that I was a worthless good for nothing and here he comes, telling me I'm some kind of a hero. I told him where they'd go, told him everything I knew and asked that he keeps my brother out of trouble. Phil –Phil's the kind of guy who keeps his word, you know?"

Steve didn't, not really, but he could imagine it. A beat-up, rebellious teenaged Clint refusing to talk to anyone because he didn't trust them.

"And I thought that'd be the last I'd see of Mr. Coulson, FBI agent, except he shows up about a week later with my brother in tow, pays off my hospital bills and gives me his card. When I call him back a month later, after Barney's taken off and I ain't go nowhere to go, been living on the streets for two weeks, he tells me to sign up at Shield Academy and he'll take care of everything else. And he did." Clint smiled a sad, heartbroken kind of smile. "Loving him was easy, from afar. He checked in on me a couple of times, and then I got assigned to his team and the rest is just history. I never stood a chance. He saved my life. I saved his."

"Thank you," Steve managed to rasp the words out. The pain in his chest twisted abruptly and he curled onto his side, groaning again.

His soul was crying. And all he could feel was a splintering pain blooming from his stomach and spreading through his body. It was a little like pins and needles, if they could move and spread simultaneously. He was distantly aware of Clint's presence, rubbing his back, talking to him but most of it was faded out. He couldn't concentrate. He moaned in pain, a pain that came straight from his soul as it tried to tear itself apart. He was pretty sure he lost consciousness once or twice, but each time Clint was there, still talking, still rubbing his back so he wasn't sure.

"You said it'd get worse," Steve croaked accusingly. "Did you mean this?"

"Everything gets worse," Clint replied somberly. "Everything."

Steve thought of Clint –in love with a man who didn't know it, able to feel every excruciating minute when his soul-bonded had sex with the woman he loved. He thought of Clint, experiencing the dreams his soul-bond had, whether they were nightmares or sex dreams. He didn't want to have to live through the latter himself, but he didn't know.

"Is it worth it?" Steve breathed out, clenching his eyes as a bout of agony washed through him. The pain was his own, his soul in rejection.

Clint gazed down at him, blue eyes heavy with sorrow. "No."

Steve wrenched his gaze away, staring at the pristine white of his bathtub. Of course it wasn't. Nothing could make this pain worth it. He remembered Bucky, laughing, no bags under his eyes and wondered if it was worth it for him.

"But if it's not worth it –for him, for Phil, then it wouldn't be worth it at all," Clint continued quietly. "I get to live each day knowing I made it a little easier on him. I take his pain and his sadness. I take his nightmares –he doesn't get them at all anymore, I don't think, not the real bad ones anyways. If it wasn't worth it, I wouldn't be here. But I –I remember that, every time it gets really bad like this."

Steve slowly turned back to his friend. "And when he's fucking someone else?" He didn't have the energy for tact. Everything hurt. His head was pounding.

"I find someone I can fuck," Clint admitted. "The nausea goes away, you forget for a little bit. Later, the nausea doesn't come at all. The feelings get dimmer, duller; you find a happy place to escape to."

He was still rubbing Steve's back.

"Sleep with me," Steve blurted out. "Make it go away. Make it stop."

Clint's hand stilled. He was quiet for a long moment. "Not today. It won't help. This is all still too new for your body. It won't work. And it's too late now, anyways, you have to catch it earlier."

"Liar," he whispered; all the energy and fight he'd been saving up draining out of him.

The nausea flared up as he felt waves of contentment flood through to him. He was going to be sick. He wanted to resent Bucky, to hate him for making him suffer through this. But that wouldn't be fair. Steve got himself into this mess. He wasn't going to make Bucky suffer the humiliation of knowing that every time he got laid, Steve had to live through it minute by minute. He wished he could have saved himself the humiliation.

"Ask me sometime when you don't feel like dying," Clint suggested dryly, hauling him into a sitting position just in time for the dry heaving to start up again.

"Why does it feel like this?" Steve whimpered.

Clint chuckled quietly. "My friend Natasha, she used to say that this is how it feels for girls when they get their periods. I told her I would never blame her if she killed me on her time of the month. Every time I went through this, whimpering and sobbing in pain, she would just come and mock me. She'd say it was the way of the universe to even the score with particularly stupid men."

"That makes me feel worse," Steve groaned. Was this really how women felt? Like there were shards of glass exploding in his gut, driving him to his knees, forcing himself to curl up to relieve the pain despite the fact that it should have worsened it.

"Sorry. The current theory is that, well, since we're supposed to experience their feelings during sex too that we only get one end of the deal. Because the biggest selling point of bonds is the shared sensation of sex, feeling everything you do to your partner, having that reverberate in you as you do it. But we aren't two people, we aren't one whole soul. We're just half. We get half of everything. We get our soul-bond's feelings, we get half of everything about them but they don't get any of us. We can't feel good because we know they'll never be with us. You make your peace with it."

It was twenty minutes before he could move, with Clint's help, shuffling into his bedroom. Clint didn't ask, or wait to be asked, because Steve had been about to ask him to stay, but Clint lay in bed next to Steve and held him. There was nothing romantic about it, or sexual. Steve was exhausted and sore and Clint was just there. He was exhausted and yet all he could feel was the proud, smugness of a man who'd had a successful night. Steve was perhaps the very opposite of that.

"You're a good friend," Steve slurred.

"Shut up and sleep already," Clint said, maybe just a touch fondly.

Or maybe Steve's brain was just too tired to tell the difference between fondness and annoyance. He found that he didn't really care as sleep tugged at him, carrying him off.

* * *

 _Hey so thanks so much for reading and reviewing, you guys have been great! I live for your feedback :)_

 _Also I do have a tumblr - it's Kinthinia . tumblr . com_


	8. Control

Steve woke up alone, illogically convinced that he had fallen asleep in bed next to Clint Barton but then he could hear pots and pans banging together and Clint swearing under his breath and before he was really conscious of it, he was padding out barefoot to the kitchen. Clint was still wearing his clothes from yesterday and fighting with the coffee pot, a frying pan with an omelet and the oven with its freshly cooking bacon. Steve took pity on him, taking over the omelets and serving them up while Clint dealt with the bacon and the coffee. They sat at the table across from each other. Clint had stayed the night –he hadn't needed to. Steve could feel that there was something different between them. Clint got up to grab the salt and pepper and on his way back, pressed a light kiss to Steve's forehead before sitting back down. They exchanged a heavy look. Clint would never be able to give Steve everything he wanted. Steve would never be Phil. But maybe, maybe, despite that they could work.

"Thanks," Steve said, for more than just breakfast.

Clint smiled back and ate a mouthful of omelet. Normally, Steve would have been asking about what this meant for the two of them. But right now, he was mostly afraid to bring them up; afraid that if he did ask those impossible questions, whatever peace they had right now would shatter. And he just wanted a few more minutes of peace. He wanted to take up more of Clint's time, uninterrupted like this. Everything else was just detail. Their time had to be about them, not about anyone else.

"No problem," Clint said, raising his cup of coffee in a salute.

Steve rolled his eyes. "You are such a cliché, Agent Barton," he teased.

Clint leaned in, waggling his eyebrows. "Ooh, kinky, say it again," he husked, a grin teasing at his lips.

Steve laughed and leaned back. "I'll remember that's what gets you turned on."

"I have a very big –"

"I swear if you say di-"

"Superiority kink –seriously Rogers?! That's where you go with this?" Clint burst out laughing. " _I'll_ remember you have a size kink."

"I do not!"

Clint snickered. "Sure sounds like it to me, don't worry, I won't judge. I'm sure you're packing some… big guns down there."

Steve blew out an exasperated breath. "Are you mocking me?"

"Never!" Clint said. "You're hot as fuck!"

Steve felt his face heat up. "You don't need to stroke my ego."

"Seriously man," Clint said earnestly, "I wouldn't do that. You're a good looking guy."

Steve smiled shyly. "Thanks?" he offered. People didn't compliment him. And people certainly didn't compliment him and _mean_ it. He was scrawny for a guy. He didn't have a lot of musculature, let alone definition. He wasn't much to look at and he knew it, although it was nice of Clint to say otherwise.

Clint winked. "This is the part where you tell me you think I'm pretty too."

Steve chuckled, the uneasy tension washing away. "I think you're pretty too –pretty full of yourself." He got to his feet, clearing the table.

Clint spluttered in outrage. "Say that to my face, Rogers!"

"Just did," Steve laughed, blowing him a playful kiss as he put their dishes into the sink.

"Just for that, I am not helping you with those dishes! You can do them by yourself."

Steve chuckled. "Still worth it."

"Your puns need some improvement that was groan worthy."

"Uh huh. Sounds like someone isn't over it yet."

"Anyone ever tell you you're a smart ass?"

"Me?" Steve asked, turning to look at Clint with big, wide eyes. " _Never._ "

Clint rolled his eyes. "Oh yeah. I believe that. Sure. With those big doe eyes, real believable Steve. Very mature too."

"Pot. Kettle," Steve called out.

"Don't even get started with me," Clint said, slapping a hand onto Steve's ass. Steve jumped in surprise. "I won't put up with your sass, mister. Only one of us here can be the funny guy and I think we both know who it is."

Steve peered at Clint, fighting to hide his grin. "You mean… me? Right?" He couldn't help laughing at the expression on Clint's face and he hip checked him aside.

"Oh, that's it! You're on!" Clint laughed, splashing water from the faucet at him.

The ensuing water war left them out of breath from laughing, sides aching and their shirts glued to their skin. It would take _hours_ for Steve's kitchen to dry out and they hadn't even washed any dishes. But it was worth it. Steve discovered he enjoyed kissing Clint, especially when the other man was pliant with laughter and loose-limbed. Steve really liked the feeling of Clint's hard body under his, the way he held onto Steve gently even though he could have easily reversed their positions. Clint tasted like coffee and maple syrup and his hands were rough and calloused where they rubbed against Steve's exposed waist. His shirt had ridden up, but he didn't care. Clint shifted under him and Steve could feel the other man's growing interest as Clint pulled him back down for a hot, searing kiss. He raked his hand through Steve's hair and Steve ground down against him involuntarily, feeling hot pleasure race through him.

Clint was groaning under him, hooking his leg around Steve's waist, pressing their clothed erections together. Steve pulled back with a gasp, staring down at Clint's lust blown eyes with interest. Steve rocked against him, feeling the other man move with him. Clint dragged him back down for another biting kiss as they fell into a rhythmic pace –Steve would roll his hips down and Clint would thrust up. It was intoxicating and Steve rode the pleasure until his fingers were curling and he was panting against Clint's neck, black spots dotting his vision as he came. Seconds later, he could feel Clint's body go taut and then limp underneath him. Clint dragged one calloused hand through his hair, down the back of his neck and Steve felt goosebumps follow.

"Good?" Clint murmured, a little breathless.

"Great," Steve replied huskily, reluctantly easing off him.

Clint grinned at him. "You didn't have to move. That was good. Don't think I've done that since I was a teenager."

Steve managed a sheepish nod. It wasn't until he was in college that he even managed to get somewhere in the ball park of sex-while-still-clothed. "Yeah, it was great."

"Should do this again sometime," Clint said, winking at him. "Maybe less clothes next time. Like, a lot less clothes."

Steve swallowed. "Yeah."

Silence descended between them, just the sound of their loud breaths in Steve's quiet apartment. He could hear his fridge kick in, a low electronic buzz filtering through.

"Also, pretty sure I was right," Clint said after a moment, "you totally have _big guns_."

 _Steve crept inside, squeezing in past the door. If it opened more than six inches, the hinges wailed and there was no way his mother wouldn't hear that. He was all of fifteen, stick thin and scrawny. He hissed in pain when his oversized hoodie caught on the screen door handle, yanking him back. He quickly fumbled the cloth off the latch and slipped inside. It was late. So, so late. He was going to be in so much trouble. He shut the door behind him, listening for the quiet_ schick _that meant it was properly shut. He forgot sometimes, and then cold air would blow in through the gap. He stepped on the heel of his shoe, pulling one socked foot out and then very carefully stepped on the heel of his other shoe._

" _Steven Grant Rogers!"_

 _Steve jumped in surprise, wincing in pain as he tripped over his foot and fell forward. He just caught himself with his hands on the carpeted floor. He hobbled back up, ducking his head quickly. Maybe she hadn't seen –_

" _Where have you been?"_

 _Steve winced. "I was –I was out with some friends."_

" _Who?" Sarah demanded. From the corner of his eye, he could see her foot tapping against the floor. Not a good sign. He was in_ so _much trouble right now._

" _I went out with Bobby –"_

" _Funny, because he said the last he'd seen of you, you ditched him to go canoodle with that Ramone boy."_

 _Steve cringed. "I –well, I mean, I did do that…"_

 _Sarah just arched an expectant brow. "Do you know what time it is?"_

 _Steve glanced at the clock reluctantly. It was two o'clock in the morning, pitch dark outside. His mom had gotten off work at twelve, and he'd tried to get home before her._

" _I'm sorry," he said quietly, feeling hot tears prick at his eyes. He curled his hands into fists. He wasn't going to cry. Not anymore. Not after today._

" _Steve, honey, what happened?" and there was her Mom voice, all the fight going out of her, just a concerned parent. Was he so transparent?_

" _I don't –nothing happened," his voice wavered. "Nothing."_

 _He and Troy had just been fooling around a little. Troy was the first guy to ever say he thought Steve was pretty, and Steve had gone along with it. He and Bobby had been going out to see a movie and then Troy was there and he flashed that dimpled grin, ran his hand through his hair and asked Steve out. Steve wasn't crazy enough to not jump on that offer. Bobby tried to tell him not to do it. But Troy was hot. And Steve didn't mind boys, or girls, for that matter. They were both gorgeous and he wanted to know what kissing was like. He thought it would be nice._

 _Troy wasn't nice though._

" _Steven."_

 _He had literally jumped at the opportunity to fool around with Troy and he should have known better. He'd heard the stories. But Troy had always been kind of nice to him. Troy didn't shove him down; he was gentle with Steve in gym class. He'd always laugh and say that he was nice because he didn't want to accidentally kill Steve. Better than most of Steve's classmates who would have gladly ran him into the ground._

" _I'm sorry," Steve repeated stubbornly. "I didn't mean to be late. T-Troy's car broke down." He wasn't going to give his mom more reason to worry. He was fine._

 _Troy waited until they were blocks and blocks away from their neighborhood before he pulled over and leaned in to kiss Steve. And then he was pulling Steve out of his car, throwing him to the pavement._

" _What? You thought I was interested in some shrimpy kid like you? I bet you don't even have a dick yet. Or know what to do with it!" Troy had said, laughing. "You're nothing special to look at, Steve. Or should I say, dick-less?" Troy got back into his car and drove away._

" _Sorry Mom," Steve said, kissing her cheek. "Good night." He went to his bedroom and stared at his ceiling, willing himself to fall back asleep. But all he could hear was Troy's voice echoing in his head._

The image had been in his head for weeks when he finally sat down and put it on canvas. Dark, fiery reds lit the sky like the world was on fire and scorched golden sands formed the setting. A line of five shadowy figures marching against the storm, three of them tied together with a fraying rope. When it had finished drying, Steve picked up the picture and started walking to Artemis' Art Shop. Steve didn't like looking at the picture and he wanted it out of his house. If Tabby and Gideon didn't want it, he'd throw the damn thing out. Looking at it, it made him feel like he was suffocating. Like he was one of the figures, struggling through hot sand, trying to get somewhere and failing. He didn't like it. Last time he'd been by the shop, Gideon had been bugging him about giving them a piece they could use to advertise the talent of the local artists. If they didn't want this one, well, Steve wouldn't be able to blame them for it.

Steve pulled the door open, the bell jingling and he caught Gideon's eye right away. He gave a friendly wave and made his way to the counter, balancing the canvas carefully.

"Hey Steve," Gideon greeted, moving to the empty counter space. "Did you bring us something?"

"Yeah, actually," Steve admitted, setting the picture onto the counter. "I know you've been looking to showcase some of the local talent around here. I thought I'd bring something for you."

"Finally!" Gideon laughed. "It's been months!"

Steve smiled sheepishly. "I hadn't found a piece that seemed right. To be honest, this one isn't all that great either but I can't stand to look at it anymore." He turned the picture over.

"Wow, Steve that's –that's something," Gideon said.

Steve shrugged uncomfortably. "If you guys don't want it, I understand. I can find something else –"

"No, no, this is… this is good," Gideon said, pulling the canvas over. "It's very striking. What were you thinking about when you drew it?"

"Soldiers," Steve said softly. "I was thinking about soldiers." He gestured at the men with their hands bound together. "The rope is the duty and honor they're expected to have." Fraying, because those things seldom stood up in the face of war. He pointed at the two men unbound. "Command has a lot more freedom. They're responsible for this, but they really only answer to each other." Steve sighed heavily, glancing at Gideon just to stop looking at the art piece. "I really can't stand to look at this."

Gideon placed it behind the counter. "It's a good piece, Steve. Thank you."

"Yeah, no problem," Steve said with a bittersweet smile.

"We got some new art supplies in," Gideon offered, gesturing to the corner of the shop. "Let me know if you see anything you like."

Steve made his way over, examining the glitter swirl crayons among other things. They weren't the kind of supply he was interested in, but he could appreciate the effect it would have. If he were still in art school, he would have bought them with no hesitation just in case he needed them. He'd always liked putting fine, specific details into his artwork. When he was doing comics, he made sure to work those details into the most important panels or frames. Steve moved around the display, stepping back so he could see around the small woman in front of him. There were some magazines on new art techniques, how to perfect shading and how to draw hands easier. Nothing Steve was overly interested in. After working for Tony for so long, he knew how to draw hands. Hands were painfully easy to draw, compared to all the other work he had to do.

"Oh, excuse me," bubbled the woman, laughing when she bumped against him. "Wait –Steve, right?"

Steve blinked and did a second take. She was maybe five foot four, a good two inches shorter than him. She had shoulder length, wavy brown hair and small hooded eyes that were so dark they were nearly black.

"…Allison?" He hadn't texted or spoken to her since she'd sent him a message so long ago.

"Yeah!" she said, flashing him a warm smile. "The trumpet nerd, that's me!"

Steve smiled sheepishly. "That's not how I remember you," he said.

She rolled her eyes. "I'm sure. Anyway, funny running into you here!"

"Looking for some art supplies," Steve said awkwardly. Was she mad at him that he'd never texted her back? He hadn't thought it would be the right thing to do, considering the bad terms he'd parted the company with. Considering the fact that he and Clint were… something more than friends.

"I didn't know you painted. Or sketched?"

"Both," Steve admitted, smiling slightly. "Depends on my mood."

"That's lovely," Allison said, grabbing one of the magazines. "Well it's been nice running into you again."

"Yeah," Steve agreed, mostly for a lack of anything better to say. It hadn't been bad to run into her again, at any rate.

"Oh, there you are babe," said a familiar voice and Steve felt himself stiffening in response to that voice. Because of course. "My sister wants to meet you. You ready -?" Bucky stopped as he rounded the corner of the bookshelf, his gaze landing on Steve's.

"Ready as I'll ever be," Allison answered, holding his hand.

Bucky glanced down at his girlfriend, flashing a reassuring smile. "I promise Tabby doesn't bite. She's even said she'll be on her best behavior today." He glanced back at Steve, offering him an apologetic smile.

Steve lifted a shoulder in response. Bucky didn't owe him anything. He was free to date if he wanted to.

"Do you two know each other?" Allison asked shrewdly, following Bucky's gaze.

Steve turned his attention back to the display, trying to come up with some believable story. They were old friends; they'd gone to high school together, taken an art class together once…

"Yeah," Bucky said. "This is Steve. He, uh, he saved my life."

Steve jerked to look at Bucky, his eyes wide.

"You did?" Allison asked, staring at Steve with wonder and fascination. "How?"

"He jumped in front of traffic for me. I –I hadn't been paying attention," Bucky said easily, like it was a story he had rehearsed. If Steve didn't know better, he would have believed him too. "I didn't know you guys knew each other."

"Remember when we met that first night? I met Steve earlier on," Allison supplied.

Of course they'd met at the blind date event. Of course Bucky would have been getting it on with the one of two people who had expressed interest in meeting up with Steve later. He turned his attention back to the display. He'd vicariously experienced their sex life. He wrinkled his face in disgust. He could have lived his whole life without ever needing to know who Bucky had been fucking. Because that was not his business, not at all, not even a little. And now, if it happened again, he would know exactly who Bucky was with. This somehow felt more invasive than just vicariously living their sex life.

"Hey, Steve, you should come with," Bucky said. "Meet my sister. She's been dying to get a hold of the guy who saved my life."

"Maybe –maybe later?" Steve offered, grabbing the first thing he could get his hands on. "I'm in a bit of a hurry."

"It won't take long," Bucky said. "She can get you through faster anyways." He grinned. "Benefit of having a sister who owns the place."

With no easy way out, Steve reluctantly followed the happy couple to the counter. The shop was less busy than usual and Tabby was just wiping down the counter when she saw them. She did share a few traits with her brother –bright blue eyes, curly hair and when they smiled, they got the same creases around their eyes. All these years, he'd been coming to this art store and somehow never ran into Bucky despite the fact that the man's sister ran it. It was a mystery how Steve had managed to avoid running into Bucky for so long, when they'd apparently been circling the same place for years now.

"This one I know," Tabby said, gesturing at Steve. "I take it you must be Allison?"

"That's me," Allison giggled nervously, holding out her hand.

Tabby shook it firmly, judging by Allison's expression. "You treat my brother good, alright. And I know Mom expects you _both_ to show up at the next family dinner or there'll be hell to pay."

Bucky winced. "Yeah, I know. We'll see about coming."

Tabby released Allison's hand, her attention zeroing on Steve. Her lips quirked into a delighted grin when they landed on the package in his hands, "Trying out our new selection of pigment markers, I see?" Her blue eyes were twinkling with amusement and Steve had to resist hitting himself in the face with the markers. She knew him too well –he didn't use markers. Ever.

"Thought I'd try something different?" he offered, setting the package on the counter.

"Hey, Tabby," Bucky said, and the seriousness of his tone drew even Steve's attention to him. "This is the guy who saved my life."

Tabby whipped her head back around to stare at Steve like she'd never seen him before. Steve swallowed, avoiding her gaze, wondering what exactly Bucky had told his family. Steve had just reached for his wallet when Tabby was moving around the counter and throwing her arms around him, practically squeezing the life out of him.

" _Thank you_ ," she whispered. She pulled back and Steve was horrified to see there was a tear in her eye. "You're officially invited to our family dinners too. Every Friday night, five o'clock sharp. Our Mom makes a mean stroganoff –and if you don't like that, there's always the vegan casserole."

Steve tried to glance towards Bucky, but Tabby had a very strong presence.

"You'll come right, this Friday? I hope you aren't busy. We've all wanted to meet you. Ever since… well."

"Maybe not _this_ Friday, Tabs," Bucky offered, looking significantly between his sister and his girlfriend.

"Nonsense," Tabby said, waving off his protest. "Steve, say you'll come, please. It'd make Mom's week."

"I –I mean, sure?"

He had a very distinct feeling that there was no saying no to Tabby. Behind the counter, he caught sight of Gideon giving him a thumb's up.

"Mom'll be beside herself, Bucky," Tabby argued, putting her arm around Steve's shoulders. "How'd you find him again?"

"We bumped into each other at work," Steve answered honestly, ducking out from her arm. Tabby was an intimidating five foot eleven woman who loved wearing high heels everywhere and using other people for arm rests. He'd seen her do it to Gideon before, and her husband was nearly six and a half feet tall. He tried not to take it personally.

Bucky flashed Steve a grateful smile. "Lucky coincidence."

Allison didn't look too happy about the conversation though, and belatedly Steve realized why. He was going to be stealing what should have been her spotlight. She was the new girlfriend. Steve was the guy who had saved Bucky's life. Yeah, he was the one who was going to be the topic of conversation all night. He would need to get some answers from Bucky before he walked into that dinner though, just so he didn't accidentally reveal too much. Tabby chatted on about how amazing her mother's food was as she wrote down the address and handed Steve the card. He paid for his markers, mumbled an excuse about running late and all but fled the store.

He messaged Peggy first when he got home. He messaged Sam after, asking for advice on how to handle the night. Because he was not prepared for that kind of environment. He'd never done anything that was really worth celebrating before. He'd never thought of himself as some kind of a hero for rescuing Bucky and he knew Bucky felt the same. There were too many complications involved. Steve had invaded Bucky's space and saved his life without being asked. It wasn't like it was a bad thing, exactly; he had saved Bucky's life. Bucky was obviously in agreement on that part, because he had thanked Steve. But there was everything else between them, a gaping chasm that demanded answers. Steve might have saved Bucky's life, but he'd also chained them together.

His phone chimed and he glanced down in surprise to see Clint's name.

From Clint: Hey, you free on Thursday? Phil and his gf want to do a double date with us.

Steve winced. That sounded remarkably like torture. In fact, he wasn't sure which scenario was worse. Dinner with Bucky, Bucky's girlfriend and Bucky's family or dinner with Clint, the man Clint was in love with and that man's girlfriend. Steve honestly couldn't tell which one was going to end worse.

From Clint: He's been asking ever since I introduced you and I've been putting him off as long as possible. I don't think he's going to take no for an answer anymore.

To Clint: I'm free Thursday evening.

He didn't know how to tell Clint about the dinner with Bucky. He just knew that he didn't want to tell him it was happening just yet. Because if he told Clint, Clint would be upset because Steve was just chaining himself to Bucky more tightly. But he didn't know how to get out of the dinner either. And deep down, he wasn't entirely certain he wanted out of it. And for right now, he didn't want to hear Clint yelling at him about it either. Not when Clint kept himself so deeply involved with his own soul-bond. Then again… Clint was in love with Phil. Steve wasn't in love with Bucky. He just wanted to make things between them right, however he could. Because what he'd done, as well-intentioned as he had been, he had done a bad thing. Soul-bonding was a big deal. And he hadn't given Bucky a choice –Bucky hadn't been able to have a say in what Steve did.

Maybe he should cancel. Bucky didn't want him there when he was introducing his girlfriend and Allison clearly hadn't been happy about it. He thumbed through his contacts, hesitating at Bucky's name. He tapped the envelope next to the contact. What was he supposed to say at this point? Politely refuse now that he was free from Tabby?

To Bucky: I think your sister would have dislocated my arm if I'd said no. Should I come up with an excuse?

From Bucky: Too late, the whole family knows and they're all excited. It's fine, I knew something like this would happen.

To Bucky: How much do they know about what happened between us?

From Bucky: Not the whole story. I think my middle sister suspects, but I don't think anyone else knows. As far as they know? You threw me out of the way of traffic and what damage I sustained was minimized by the paramedics.

From Bucky: I didn't want them to know. I still don't.

To Bucky: I won't say anything you don't want me to. What about Allison?

From Bucky: She doesn't know either. I've spent more time not talking about this than talking about it. But I'm trying to make things right. I don't know if I'll ever tell my family. It's kind of a big deal for them.

To Bucky: I understand.

From Bucky: Thanks. And I guess I'll see you Friday, huh? Be prepared for some great food. Mom's gonna go all out. They've been trying to track you down for ages, to say thanks.

To Bucky: Let her know I'm looking forward to it.

To Bucky: And thanks, for acknowledging me. You didn't have to.

From Bucky: No, I think I did. I think I did.

* * *

 _A/N sorry for the long delay! Brett Dalton was in my town for a con and I had friends up. Anyways, back to my regular posting schedule now._


	9. This Means War

Clint adjusted his tie nervously, his leg bouncing out of beat with the too happy pop song on the radio. Steve wasn't really sure how sledgehammers related to love, but apparently there was meant to be some sort of correlation. The taxi driver flicked his signal light on and Clint flinched at the noise. Steve reached over, setting his hand over Clint's.

"You look great," he said. "It's just a dinner. If you don't want to do it, we leave right now."

Clint offered him a shaky smile, stilling his leg. "We're doing this."

Steve bumped their shoulders together as the taxi pulled into the parking lot. "Y'know, I think I'm the one who's supposed to be nervous right now."

"I'll get you back tomorrow," Clint said, chuckling. "But tonight's on me, okay?"

Steve nodded, squeezing Clint's hand as the other man drew in a deep breath. The taxi rolled to a slow stop and Steve pressed an absent kiss to his cheek, handing his credit card to the driver. Clint had admitted that he had started avoiding spending time with Coulson outside of work ever since he learned that Coulson was dating Audrey. Steve couldn't fault him for that. But apparently Clint had ended up stating that he didn't like being the third wheel with Audrey, which in turn meant that Coulson only ever tried to ask them to hang out when Clint was dating someone. Clint had mentioned that he tried to never date anyone for more than a week or two to avoid this scenario. The taxi driver returned his card and Clint took another deep breath before stepping out of the car, Steve following after him.

Clint was dressed up today, in a grey suit jacket over a white shirt with a pinstriped tie. He'd actually gone to the effort of styling his hair back from his face and he was, for once, clean shaven. Usually he preferred a little stubble, but he was trying to impress. Steve just wasn't sure _who_ , exactly, Clint wanted to impress. Outside of the work dinner Clint had first invited Steve to, Steve didn't think he'd ever seen Clint wear something that wasn't plaid, leather or denim. Let alone, seen him totally clean shaven and with his hair styled. Steve was, actually, a little impressed that Clint had put so much effort in today. Steve on the other hand, had thrown on his favorite blue suit. They were at the restaurant New Politic after all and they did have a dress code.

Clint grabbed Steve's hand as they walked inside. Despite the dress code requirements, New Politic wasn't as extravagant as Steve had been expecting. He'd been to gaudier places before, on Tony's dime. The Maître 'D greeted them with a big smile.

"Reservations for four," Steve said lightly. "Under the name Coulson, I think."

"Ah, right this way!" the Maître 'D said, leading them to a private booth tucked away at the back of the restaurant.

Coulson and Audrey were already there, having obviously just arrived as there wasn't even a glass of water set at the table. Steve slid in first, leaving Clint with the option to escape if he ended up needing to. Clint squeezed his hand lightly as he sat down across from Coulson. Steve did a subtle double-take when he noticed that the agent was wearing a pair of thick black-rimmed glasses.

"Clint, Steve, I'm glad you could make it," Coulson greeted, shaking their hands.

"Yeah, me too," Steve said. "My work schedule's a bit unpredictable."

"I hear Stark's the cause of that," Coulson said knowingly.

Steve laughed despite himself. "Yeah, you can say that."

Clint shot him a grateful glance. Clint had mentioned that he'd been lying to Coulson for several weeks about Steve being busy with work –Steve was just making sure their tracks were covered.

"It's so nice to have an excuse to get Phil out of the house," Audrey admitted, smiling kindly at them.

"He's a real homebody isn't he?" Clint said conspiratorially.

Audrey shared a smile with Coulson. "He's getting better these days."

"Used to be Phil would only leave the house to go to work. He'd just order all his food in –I remember going over once and there were take-out boxes everywhere!" Clint chuckled.

Phil's cheeks turned faintly pink. "I was working from home because of a broken leg."

Clint shrugged dramatically, catching sight of their approaching waitress. "Hey, I offered to drive you around if you needed it but noooo, you had to do it all on your own."

The waitress smiled politely at them, waiting for Clint to finish. "My name is Johanna and I'll be your waitress this evening. What would you like to drink?" She handed out their menus.

Phil and Audrey shared a look and then Phil rattled off the name of some wine. Steve had no appreciation for wine –he would take a bottle of beer over a bottle of wine anytime. Except for these days because alcohol and his meds did not mix.

"I'll just have a beer," Clint said. "Whatever's on special." He opened his menu.

"Just water, please," Steve asked.

The waitress nodded and grinned at them again. "I'll be back in a jiffy," and she was gone.

"Don't like alcohol?" Audrey inquired.

Steve smiled awkwardly. "I like it just fine. I'm on several medications right now and none of them mix with alcohol."

Audrey's brows drew together in concern. "That's –"

Steve could see her trying to think about to ask what he needed the meds for and took pity on her. "I have a weak heart and severe asthma and a couple dozen other things going on. The meds keep the worst of the symptoms away." It was easier to explain these meds than the plethora of ones he had been on as a child and later as a teenager.

Audrey's concerned expression wavered. "I'm glad they have medication to help with all that."

"Me too," Steve said lightly. "I'm grateful that working for Stark Industries gives me the opportunity to have access to these medications." While he could spend all day, probably longer, talking about his medication, he was aware that other people seldom felt the same.

"Do you work with Tony Stark much?" Audrey asked.

Steve hid his smile with his menu. "Now and then."

"Decided on what you're going to order?" Phil asked Audrey, smiling at her. They discussed what they were going to order in low tones.

Steve skimmed the appetizer section and jumped to the dinner options. Phil and Audrey were a cute couple. Next to him, he felt Clint stiffen. Steve rubbed his hand gently, wondering what emotions were getting to him. Clint sighed quietly, some tension draining off his body as he flipped open his menu disinterestedly. Steve wished there was something more he could do. But at the same time, he was acutely aware that he wasn't the one Clint actually wanted. Clint wanted Phil.

Steve skimmed his own menu. "What do you think you'll get?"

"Steak and fries," Clint answered immediately. "Maybe some calamari. I love that shit." He winked at Steve.

Steve rolled his eyes. "I think I'll get the prime rib and a salad," he said.

Clint leaned in, chuckling under his breath, "Ooh so I get dinner and a show? You're gonna be licking your fingers all ni-"

"Have you had enough time with the menus?" Johanna asked.

Steve looked up in surprise. Phil and Audrey's attention were on the waitress as well.

"I'll get the calamari and a medium rare steak with fries," Clint said smoothly, as though he hadn't just been interrupted. Not that he'd been speaking loud enough to be overheard.

"I'll get the lasagna and a tossed salad," Steve said, pointedly ignoring Clint's laughter.

The waitress wrote down all of their orders before heading off and Steve realized that for the first time that night, Clint was actually relaxed. He was pressed up against Steve's side the way he usually was, an arm casually draped over the seat, just above Steve's shoulders. Clint was a casually affectionate guy. He made sure all of his gestures were transparently casual. Like there was something wrong with being intentional with affection. And Steve could see the surprise written across Phil's face, plain as day. Steve wasn't sure if Audrey just didn't know Clint well enough or if she genuinely hadn't noticed anything different. But Phil definitely had.

"Are you going to finally tell me what this is all about?" Audrey asked.

Phil and Clint whipped their heads towards her so fast Steve was surprised neither of them pulled a muscle.

"We –we got an assignment," Phil said slowly. "I wanted to go out for dinner before we leave."

"We don't leave until Sunday," Clint explained, smiling at Steve reassuringly. "And it's just a short visit to Peru and I'll be back before you even miss me."

Steve smiled at him. "Gee, I didn't even know it was possible. Missing you? We'll see."

Clint cackled. "Just you wait; you'll be crying an ocean by the time I get back."

"Have you two moved in together?" Audrey asked, observing them.

"Me? Move in with him?" Clint asked, jerking his thumb in Steve's direction. "He makes me use _coasters_. He'd probably make me fold all my clothes too and drink coffee out by the mug."

Phil sighed wearily. "What do you normally drink coffee out of?"

"The percolator, what else?"

"He doesn't even fold his clothes," Steve informed Audrey dryly. "I don't think I can ask him to move in until he can manage that."

Audrey laughed warmly. But Steve was drawn to Phil again, the pinched lines between his eyebrows and the tightness around his eyes. Audrey leaned into him and he put his arm around her, absently pressing a kiss to her temple.

"Aw, Steve," Clint drawled playfully.

"Fold your clothes and we can see about it," Steve answered, suddenly surprised by the truth behind his words.

"You should probably come over to my place at least once before then," Clint teased. "Make sure you know what you're getting into."

"Oh, I already have a pretty good idea," Steve teased back, leaning in.

Clint bridged the gap between them, kissing him briefly. For Clint, it was a pretty chaste kiss. And it wasn't as overdone as he could have aimed for, if he'd been trying to make Phil jealous. Steve hadn't known it was possible for a man so apparently uninterested and oblivious to Clint's feelings to be jealous, but Phil looked pretty jealous. Despite his own insecurities, he knew that Clint wasn't using him. Clint being able to use him was a benefit of their relationship, but it wasn't the reason behind why they were together. Neither of them had said the words to make it official, but they were a couple in their own way. Clint wasn't the type of guy to make a big deal out of things like that and Steve understood their relationship. He wasn't going to ask for more than what Clint would give him.

The arrival of their appetizers and starters prevented the awkward silence from growing. Clint stole a forkful of Steve's salad and claimed that it was all the vegetable he would be eating for the night. And despite his earlier teasing, Clint made no jokes about the calamari and didn't play with his food or make innuendos. He could have, but Steve appreciated that he didn't. Clint set his hand on his knee and gave him a gentle, reassuring squeeze. By the time they were through their appetizers, Phil and Audrey were making idle conversation about work and about their hobbies.

"I help out at an archery range sometimes, if that counts?" Clint answered, munching on a piece of calamari. "And I babysit Steve's dog sometimes."

"Lucky is your baby, just admit it."

"No way am I getting you out of your shared custody battle."

"We don't even fight about it; you can't call it a battle."

"You have a dog?" Phil asked, sounding very surprised.

"He's only a couple months old, still pretty tiny, but yeah. Golden retriever cross. Clint named him; I'm just waiting for Clint to accept that."

Clint rolled his eyes. "I just babysit him, like, once a week."

"Who else has custody?" Audrey asked.

"A, uh, a friend of mine. He helped me rescue Lucky."

"Which is why your little pup is Lucky, 'cause he's damn lucky!"

Steve rolled his eyes. "Lucky just kind of ended up sticking as the name. We alternate Lucky around our work schedules and then I get Clint to babysit him every so often. I keep hoping one day he'll take Lucky home with him."

Clint grinned at him, bright blue eyes warm and twinkling. "In your dreams, maybe. There are no dogs in this man's future."

Steve arched a brow. "You keep telling yourself that."

By the time their actual dinners had arrived, Clint was definitely trying to get a rise out of Phil. Audrey was oblivious but Steve was pretty certain that Phil had caught onto Clint because as the meal went on, Phil's looks kept getting sharper and more pointed towards Clint. Clint had only had a bottle and a half of beer. Steve had seen him steal a few sips from his water but he didn't mind. Despite the uneasiness that was crawling over his skin. Clint loved Phil and he was probably getting a certain amount of satisfaction out of making Phi uncomfortable or at least trying to. Steve wouldn't fault him for that. Not after ten years of having endured Phil's rejection on top of everything else. He wouldn't blame Clint, not this time, and he wasn't going to suggest Clint stop either. Maybe it was unfair to Phil, but Steve wasn't the one in a position to judge that.

Clint eased up as they finished off their main course. He didn't look contrite or sheepish about it either, but he kept his hand over Steve's during dessert. Clint made idle, polite conversation with both Phil and Audrey but Steve could tell that he was starting to feel less himself. It was strange, being able to watch Clint and recognize the warning signs that he never could see for himself. Clint was easily distracted and there was a distant glaze to his eyes that told Steve everything he needed to know. The tired edges of Clint's smile, which before had been sharp and alert, now matched Phil's almost identically as the four of them traded farewells and goodnights.

Steve and Clint called for a taxi to return to his place.

"I don't understand," Clint said quietly. "I've never felt him so annoyed with me before."

"That the only thing you feel?" Steve asked softly.

Clint leaned against Steve. "I couldn't feel anything from him at dinner. For a while, I forget he was even there. Until the sharp and prickly annoyance made itself present. Every time you talked, really."

Steve put his arm around Clint's waist. "I think he was jealous."

"He's in love with Audrey," Clint pointed out bitterly.

"Maybe that's what he thinks he feels," Steve said thoughtfully. "But I don't think that's how he really feels."

Clint snorted. "I can feel what he does, remember. Pretty sure that's how he actually feels." Clint sighed. "So does this mean we get to go back to your place and get hot and naked?"

"I thought we were already hot. If we get naked, we're just going to be cold."

Clint groaned, pulling away. He shoved a pointy elbow in Steve's direction. "That's just awful!"

"Like your 'dinner and a show' comment was any better," Steve chuckled. "At least mine was clean and we aren't in front of anyone."

"Hey, they couldn't have heard me if they were trying."

"You keep telling yourself that."

"Oh, you think you're so tough Mr. Rogers. Don't go patronizing me."

"I would never," Steve gasped.

Clint shot him a disbelieving eyebrow arch. "Sure you wouldn't," he drawled.

As their taxi pulled up, Steve opened the door for Clint. "Bottoms first," he murmured softly, making sure Clint could hear.

Steve was pretty sure he'd never heard Clint laugh so hard before. The warm contentment of having been the cause of it, stayed with him for the rest of the night. As did Clint. They left a trail of suit pieces and expensive shirts from Steve's front door all the way to his bedroom.

* * *

"I have no idea what I'm doing," Steve admitted as they walked up the brick walkway.

The Barnes lived in Hamilton Beach and their house was a modest two story with a nice red brick exterior and a big bay window. They didn't have much in the way of a garden, some straggly hedges and a half-dead tree growing along the walkway. Their driveway was filled with three cars and Steve was dreading this idea more and more the closer they got. Of the Barnes, he knew Tabby, Gideon and Bucky. And apparently there were a few more than just that.

"You're coming here to be celebrated for being a hero," Clint said lightly, bumping their shoulders together. "Have a good time, eat some great food."

Steve laughed nervously as they reached the door. He knocked nervously. It wasn't even two seconds and the door swung open to reveal Tabby, grinning brightly.

"Hey c'mon in!" she said, waving him and Clint through. "I'm Tabby –and you must be Steve's date."

He had texted her a few times to see if he could even bring a date and then to get the address. He slipped his shoes off as Clint introduced himself. There were ten pairs of shows on the floor, not including his or Clint's. Had they invited Bucky's extended family to come too? Steve really hoped not.

"Hey everyone, Steve's here!"

"Well don't crowd him at the door, Tabitha," called a matronly woman.

Tabby rolled her eyes dramatically. "We're set up in the dining room, except for Aubree and Gideon who've been relegated to babysitting duty for right now." Tabby smiled at them invitingly and headed upstairs.

Steve took a deep breath and followed after her, Clint at his side. They walked through an open archway at the top of the stairs –next to it, Steve could see into the living room where a teenager was sitting with a toddler on her lap, Gideon on the couch. At a guess, Steve thought he could catch snippets of Dora's theme song blaring and the toddler mouthing the words excitedly. Straight through was the dining room where there were _a lot of people_. Steve recognized Bucky and Allison, trapped by a wall of people and the countertops. Steve almost missed the small, reassuring smile Bucky sent his direction. Allison on the other hand was looking extremely off-put by the whole thing. Her pink lips were turned down in a pout and she was resting her head on her hand, disinterestedly examining her nails. Standing behind the black granite countertop was an older couple –Steve assumed they must be Bucky's parents. No one else looked old enough.

"This is my Mom Winifred, and my Dad, George," Tabby said, pointing at the couple.

George had salt and pepper hair and the beginnings of a beard that was more silver in color. Beside him, his wife was sporting a short bob with a faint gray glow to the oaky strands. Like her children, she had lively blue eyes.

"Over there is my little sister Rebecca and her man, Daniel," Tabby said, gesturing at them.

Rebecca had long brown hair and electric blue eyes. She was sitting across from Bucky and Allison. Rebecca couldn't have been much older than Bucky, if she was at all. Beside her was a lanky man with several moles scattered across his face and big hipster glasses.

"And the toddler in there is my little Artemis, Gideon who you already know and my baby sister Aubree," Tabby rattled off. "Everyone, this is Steve and his boyfriend Clint. Clint, that's my brother Bucky and his sweetheart Allison." She said "sweetheart" the way one would say gold-digger or snake.

Next to him, Clint stiffened. Steve smiled politely at the Barnes family; his gaze landing on Bucky's whose jaw was wide open.

" _Clint Barton?"_ he asked incredulously.

"Hey Barnes," Clint said easily, casually leaning his weight against Steve. "Fancy seeing you here."

Bucky scoffed. "Right, because it's not like I grew up here or anything. I didn't know you were dating –Steve."

"It's new," Clint said. "I didn't know you had Allison."

Bucky gave a brittle smile. "It's recent."

Steve was distracted from their puzzling conversation by Winifred who waved him over into the kitchen. Steve obediently headed over, noticing Clint take the seat beside Allison. In the kitchen, the stove was full with boiling pots on ever burner. It was noticeably several degrees hotter in there which didn't do much in helping Steve relax. He was on edge. And for once, he was pretty sure that the anxiety was entirely his own.

"Would you mind if I hugged you?" Winifred asked, smiling tremulously.

Steve shook his head and the older woman wrapped her arms around him. "You saved our son's life. If there's ever anything we can do for you, just say the word." She released him, stepping back. There were tears in her eyes.

"I –yeah, I'll remember that," Steve said awkwardly. He had no idea how to respond to that.

George stepped beside his wife, patting her back comfortingly. "Thank you for coming tonight. Don't let the girls scare you off –they can be headstrong, sometimes, I know."

Steve offered him a smile. "Yeah."

And then Rebecca was stepping into the kitchen, drawing Steve into conversation. And after Rebecca, it was Tabby for a fifteen minute chat about how her business was going while she got a glass of juice for her son. By the time the first hour had passed, Steve somehow found himself sitting in the living room with Aubree-the-teenager who hadn't said a single word to him. He found himself trying to guess at how old she would have been when Bucky's "accident" happened. Maybe ten? Aubree had light brown hair; cut short to her jawline in what Steve figured was an attempt at making herself appear older. She balanced Art on her knee like she'd spent years doing so –and Steve realized she probably had. He'd seen Bucky with a toddler before too, probably Art.

Steve's family consisted of himself and his mother. He'd never grown up with siblings or cousins or anyone just a little older who would have had kids. Other than a very brief babysitting stint he'd done when he was twelve to look after a neighbour's six and eight year old, Steve had never really interacted with children. And outside of high school? Steve had never interacted with a teenager. Teenagers in particular seemed to be well-practiced in viciousness.

By the time dinner was ready, Steve hadn't managed to catch more than a glimpse of Bucky or find time to sneak a word or two with Clint. And of course there was table seating, which left Clint and Steve sitting across from Bucky and Allison. Aubree was seated next to Clint, and beside her was Artemis, Gideon, Tabby at the end of the table, Daniel and Rebecca, Allison, Bucky, Winifred and George at the head of the table. There was lasagna, mashed sweet potatoes, a big bowl of salad and several steamed vegetables not to mention the vegan casserole. There were glasses of water set out for everyone except for Art who had a sippy cup of juice.

"I just want to thank Steve for making it today," Tabby said, lifting her glass. "And to his partner Clint, for actually managing to cheer my brother up."

Clint grinned. "What're friends for?"

Steve definitely didn't imagine the look of distaste that crossed Allison's face. He wondered what Tabby had against her because he couldn't think of a single time ever seeing Tabby as anything other than friendly. Even with the arrogant asshole customers. Even the drunk ones that wandered in. On the other hand, it was hard to tell if Bucky noticed Allison's reaction or if he just didn't care. He glanced at Clint from the corner of his eye –even Clint's smile was a little strained, and he turned towards Steve with a look promising to explain everything later.

"And to Steve," George said. "For saving our son's life."

Steve flushed, smiling awkwardly as Bucky's family toasted to him. He could feel an echoing pulse of second-hand embarrassment as he took a polite sip of water. Well, at least he wasn't the only one feeling it. In a way, it was a relief to know that much. Because Steve didn't really know how to handle the attention.


	10. Say Something

Chapter Ten, Say Something

"And to Steve," George said. "For saving our son's life."

Steve flushed, smiling awkwardly as Bucky's family toasted to him. He could feel an echoing pulse of second-hand embarrassment as he took a polite sip of water. Well, at least he wasn't the only one feeling it. In a way, it was a relief to know that much. Because Steve didn't really know how to handle the attention.

"How did you ever find him again?" Winifred asked, smiling peacefully.

Bucky set his glass down slowly. "Coincidence, really. Remember when I got the Stark Industries paid-for-prosthetic? Steve here was one of the designers."

Tabby gasped. "He's the one you gave my sketch to?! Bucky!"

"It's okay," Steve said quickly. "It's his body. I appreciated the sketch really; it helped me understand what Bucky was looking for."

"So you've been hiding him from us for the last six months?" Rebecca asked accusingly, sharp blue eyes flitting from Steve to Bucky.

"I didn't want you guys to scare him off," Bucky said lightly, taking a long drink of water.

"And I've had my plate full, working to get Bucky's prosthetic finished. Tony thinks he'll have it built by the end of this month –there was a bit of a hitch in getting the supplies." Which was to say that halfway through starting to create the prosthetic, Tony had come to the realization that the only way it would ever work was if he got his hands on some vibranium. Steve was pretty sure Tony had only been home for three days this month because he'd been so busy arranging meetings with the King of Wakanda to argue on Bucky's behalf.

"That's great," Bucky said, his expression brightening.

"You've missed the intensive field work huh?" Clint asked lightly, glancing at Steve guardedly.

"As much as playing dress up is fun and everything, I wouldn't mind seeing some real action again."

"James…" Winifred began softly. "I wish you wouldn't."

Silence descended upon the table abruptly. Allison's fork scraped across her plate too loudly in the sudden quiet and she winced, setting her utensils down. Beside him, Clint had tensed up. Aubree appeared disinterested in the whole conversation; Rebecca was holding her husband's hand; Tabby was eating with great enthusiasm; Gideon looked almost physically pained; George had that polite, uncomfortable expression on his face and his wife Winifred, just looked sad.

"So you and Clint work together?" Steve asked, forcing the question out.

"We've been friends for years," Clint cut in, "I was going to introduce you guys next week."

"Aw how sweet!" Tabby said. "How long have you two been dating anyways?"

Steve blinked in surprise. "T-three months?" Maybe four. He hadn't exactly been counting.

Clint cracked a grin. "You don't actually remember? Shame on you Steve!"

With that, the tense atmosphere was broken. Easy jokes were traded shamelessly between Clint and Bucky, who was as quick to jump on the change of topic as Steve had been to make it happen. It was easy to see the comradery between them, the inside jokes they tossed at each other, the way Bucky's family smiled at some of them, like they'd heard the stories all before. It was an uncomfortable feeling, watching his boyfriend and his soul-bond joke and goof around each other like they'd known each other for years. His entire relationship with Clint was almost entirely built on the fact that Steve had needed help dealing with Bucky. And now? Clint knew. Clint knew everything. Steve wasn't sure how that was going to play out and he wasn't sure he was going to like the fallout. He'd been trying to protect Bucky's identity all this time –he never thought that the two of them would actually know each other. And he wasn't sure if Bucky would revert back to resenting him because Clint had been dragged into the middle of everything because of Steve. By the time they left the Barnes, Steve wouldn't be surprised if he was short both a boyfriend and a friendly soul-bond.

That cloud of expectation hovered over him throughout the rest of the meal. Allison was the only person who looked to be having less of a fun time than Steve. Bucky had hardly spoken to her and it was easy to see that Bucky's family had no interest in rescuing her. Time slipped past them as he was in the middle of an art discussion with Tabby and half listening in to Bucky and Clint's familiar banter. The two of them seemed quite familiar with each other. But Steve didn't have enough time to himself to get lost wondering about their connection as when Tabby left, it was Rebecca who took a turn to sit next to him at the table. Winifred and George were in the kitchen, entertaining Artemis while the pies cooled down; Clint and Bucky were in the living room, teasing Bucky's youngest sister with Gideon.

"Tell me the truth," Rebecca said, meeting his gaze squarely. "Did you soul-bond my brother to save his life?" Steve froze, not even daring to breath. "Because I've thought about it and it's the only scenario that makes sense to me. So tell me the truth: did you 'bond him?"

Steve released his breath slowly. "I think that's something you should ask him."

"Stop deflecting," Rebecca snapped. "He doesn't talk about it. So I'm asking you. And if you're the asshole who did it, if that's what you did, you can look me in the fucking eye and man up to it."

Steve stiffened. "Maybe he has his own reasons for not talking about it, and after everything, maybe I owe him the right to decide who gets to know and who doesn't. Because this isn't about me and what I did or didn't do –it's about what he wants."

Rebecca sat back, like the fight had been sucked out of her. "I –I know you're right," she admitted softly. "But I –" she stopped all of a sudden, twisting around to stare into the living room where Bucky was laughing at something. "I'm not going to say thank you," she said at last, slowly turning her focus back to Steve. There were unshed tears in her eyes. "Because even though you saved his life, you kind of ruined it too. And I'm so happy he's here, and I know I owe that much to you, but I think you'll do just fine with everyone else's congratulations. And your celebratory pies." Rebecca smiled bitterly, getting to her feet. "You don't even understand what you did to him, to my family." She shook her head and walked into the kitchen, wrapping her arms around her husband's waist, pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek.

Across from him, Allison was taking selfies. Steve resisted the urge to sigh and wished the night was already over.

"You soul-bonded Bucky fucking Barnes?" Clint demanded as soon as they were out of earshot. "Do you have any idea what that man went through? And he comes back –and you-?" Clint ran a hand through his hair. "Fuck. You fucking soul-bonded him."

Steve crossed his arms, shifting his weight uneasily. "Does it really change so much because of who it is?"

"Steve. He's my best friend. I was going to introduce you..." Clint walked down the street a few steps, kicking loose gravel flying ahead of him. "Guess you've already met though."

Steve glanced down at his shoes. "I suppose we have." There was a sinking feeling in his gut.

"I… I'm going to need time."

Steve flinched. "Yeah –whatever you need." He wasn't sure what else he should say, or could say.

He couldn't imagine what he would do, if Clint had never talked about Phil or introduced him and then when the big moment finally happened, he learned it was Sam or Peggy. He would need time too. If he knew that Clint had done it without ever telling Sam… It wouldn't have been an easy choice.

"Shit, Steve," Clint sighed, and he was walking towards him. There was an apology written across his face. "He never told me –and I've known him for ten years."

"I get the idea that he's never told anyone," Steve muttered, thinking of Rebecca.

"He's my best friend Steve!" Clint said plaintively, turning to face him. He dragged a hand through his hair again, opening and closing his mouth several times. "I've known him for ten years. I was the one who convinced him to go to the Stark Industries award ceremony to get that award –I'm the one who sent you two careening back into each other's lives. I fucked this all up. Steve, you're –you're a great guy. But… he's my best friend."

"I didn't –I didn't tell you because it wasn't my place to," Steve argued, crossing his arms uncomfortably. "I didn't want to betray his privacy anymore, considering how the bonding happened." He glanced back towards Bucky's parents' house, it was barely in view of them and he didn't see anyone standing outside.

"Yeah, I can imagine," Clint sighed. "I'm not –I'm not mad. I'm not even hurt. It's just… He's practically family to me. I don't have a lot of that. And I can't support you at his expense." Clint paused, glancing at Steve, his blue eyes hard. "Can you understand that?"

"Of course I can," Steve admitted quietly. "A little."

Clint shuffled his feet, shoving his hands into his pockets. Silence, thick and oppressive fell between them in a way it never had before. Tires crunching over gravel echoed through this slice of suburbia as their taxi pulled up. Steve got in on one side and Clint got in on the other. Clint gave his address first and Steve quietly followed it up with his own. He wasn't sure what this meant for them –but he was pretty sure that there wasn't going to be a them again. They'd hardly made for much of a couple anyways. He hadn't even introduced Clint to his friends, not officially; maybe that was some kind of sign in the first place.

Maybe he should have started their relationship off by mentioning Bucky since everyone seemed to know him except for Steve. He hadn't realized how accustomed he had been to being around Clint until the other man got out of the taxi and Steve returned to his apartment alone. Lucky was at Clint's. Steve gathered up their dishes from lunch and set them in the sink, turning the tap on to start them soaking. He wasn't sure what to do with himself at the moment. Wait for Clint to decide how things were going to end? Because it had to end, didn't it? If Steve had been dating someone who had bonded to Sam –and that Sam hadn't told him about, Steve was pretty sure he wouldn't end up getting back together with his date. Even if he had Sam's blessing and encouragement. It would always come between them –his date suffering Sam's joys with Riley, and Steve being genuinely happy for Sam and miserable for his date. He wouldn't be able to do it.

Steve turned the water off, drying his hands with a dish cloth before going into his bedroom. He stripped his bed and threw the sheets into the wash, cleaning up his bedroom angrily. He hadn't asked for this. He hadn't asked for any of this. He cleaned his whole apartment and when that wasn't enough to get the burning under his skin to settle down, he changed into a pair of sweat pants and an old t-shirt and went out for a run. He didn't care that it was almost midnight and he was underdressed for the chill in the air. He just wanted to forget about Clint. He wanted to forget how easy everything had been, before. He wanted to go back to a time where he didn't know how lonely and empty his apartment was when it was just him.

He wasn't angry at Clint. He wasn't angry at Bucky. He was mad at the universe, at the soul-bond that had trapped him in this situation. In another world, he and Clint could have had a chance. If Clint hadn't been tied to Phil and if Steve hadn't been tied to Bucky. He ignored his phone as it chimed and kept running, his feet pounding against the asphalt hard enough that he could feel every step vibrating his muscles. When he got home, he was out of breath bad enough he fumbled with his inhaler and took a few quick inhales. His legs were shaking. But his head was clear. He thought about showering but his bed called to him instead, so he shuffled over and collapsed on it, kicking his shoes off at the last minute. He was just falling asleep when his phone went off again and he reluctantly pulled it out of his pocket, muted it, tossed it aside and then fell to sleep.

He regretted it in the morning though when he woke up late and had to spend twenty minutes hunting to find his phone only to see that Tony had called fourteen times and left twenty-eight messages informing Steve of the very important meeting going on in an hour. That Steve apparently had to be at without delay. He had the quickest shower of his life and while he wasn't clean, at least he didn't smell bad either; he caught a taxi and paid the extra to get to Stark Industries as fast as possible. He had only skimmed through Tony's messages long enough to understand that this meeting had something to do with Stark Industries recent acquisition of a small portion of vibranium. And that ideally, Bucky would be in attendance as well but it was imperative Steve arrive on time. As he deleted Tony's message thread, he realized he had half a dozen messages to read between Peggy and Sam both but no time because the taxi came to an abrupt halt in front of Stark Industries. Steve threw several more bills at the driver, offered a hasty apology before he ran into the company and to the nearest elevator. He made it with thirty seconds to spare, bursting into a large conference room with very few people.

Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, Bruce Banner, Helen Cho, Bucky Barnes and two men he didn't recognize were seated around the table. Steve offered a sincere and winded apology and sat beside Dr. Cho, across from Bruce.

"Steve, meet King T'Chaka and his son, Prince T'Challa," Pepper introduced gracefully. "Your Majesties, our resident artist, Steve Rogers."

Steve bowed his head respectfully in their direction.

"I invited them from their secret little world in Wakanda," Tony said bluntly. "So they could meet our war hero, Barnes, and they insisted that if they were going to meet with him, that they wanted to see the one who brought such finesse to the design work." Tony held up his hand to forestall Steve's argument, "And before you say anything, I already showed them the original and explained that it belonged to Barnes' sister."

"You must have spent much time on this project," said the king, nodding his head thoughtfully. "It is evident in your work, young man. I much admire your style."

The prince sat perfectly straight in his chair, observing the room without offering comment.

"Thank you, sir, Y-Your Majesty," Steve said and to his horror, the words came out in a mumble. He could feel the tips of his ears turning red. Who was he, Steve Rogers, meeting with the King of Wakanda? He was no one. He was no body important. He was just a poor kid from Queens with no money to his name.

King T'Chaka offered an amused smile and turned his attention to Bucky. "You seem a good man. Mr. Stark has told me much of your circumstances and what he didn't, I looked into myself. For a man who has endured horrors no one should ever live, you have done well for yourself. Working at S.H.I.E.L.D. keeping others safe from what you went through… It is admirable."

Bucky nodded slowly, eyes wide.

"What His Majesty is saying, is that we would be honored to lend you enough vibranium to enable you to do more good," said Prince T'Challa. He slowly turned his sharp gaze towards Tony. "Once a similar deal was made with your father, but he –"

"Used it for war," Tony said darkly. "I will not make the same mistakes he did."

"It will not go nicely for you if we find you have broken your word," T'Chaka said, his voice cutting through the room. "Your father was lucky. You will not be."

"We assure you," Pepper said soothingly, "that we only want enough for Mr. Barnes' prosthetic. Tony has the specs and the schematics and he knows exactly how much he'll need."

"I want to get back in the field," Bucky said. "I want to be out there, protecting people, doing what I can. I don't want to be stuck at a desk for the rest of my life just because –because of this," he said, glaring at where his left arm should have been. "I'm not part of the government, I work for S.H.I.E.L.D. and they work –"

"For everyone, yes, we are familiar with them too," T'Challa remarked. "We trust what they stand for. And a man as honorable as you, we can trust you too."

Bucky appeared completely taken aback.

"It is not any man who can withstand the torture you did," King T'Chaka remarked gravely, lifting a locked suitcase onto the conference table. "It is not any man who could survive what you did with honor, with goodness left in his heart. I have seen men destroyed by lesser things than you. And here you sit. It is my honor to present this to you, Sergeant Barnes, that you may continue doing the good work you have been doing and have done in the past."

"And to Mr. Stark, for his persistence, we will trust you with this," T'Challa said, gesturing at the case.

"Thank you," Tony said, subdued as he stared at the case.

Bucky got to his feet slowly and shook the king's hand. King T'Chaka seemed amused by the whole thing. Steve wasn't sure what his purpose here was, but both king and prince bade farewell to everyone gathered and left. When they were gone, Tony opened the case eagerly to reveal vibranium. Bruce and Helen started exchanging scientific lingo about how it would work and what they would need. Steve was pretty sure he was feeling as shocked and overwhelmed about the whole thing as Bucky looked. Pepper was the one who gave Steve an out as Bruce as Helen sat next to Bucky and started explaining procedures and theories and other things Steve had little interest in.

"Thank you for coming Steve. It was their request to meet you. They really liked what you'd done for the design. You can go home now; it _is_ your day off."

And with that, Steve called another cab and headed back home. On his way there, he pulled out his phone and opened Peggy's message first. He nearly dropped his phone in shock at the message waiting for him.

Peggy: Steven, Daniel and I have become soul-bonded. I know this may come as a shock, believe me; I can hardly believe it myself! The situation was sort of unexpected as we were undercover at the time. Anyways, we are hoping to have the wedding in June and I would be honored to have you as one of my bridesmen.

Peggy: You know me. I never do anything traditional these days. Two bridesmen, two bridesmaids and two groomsmen and two groomsbrides. Daniel has a very large family.

Peggy: Hope to hear you can make it. Best wishes.

Steve smiled sadly. Of course Peggy was getting married.

Steve: I am so happy for you! You'll have to tell me how it happened. I will take a whole week off if you need it come June.

He went back to his messaging app and opened Sam's thread. It was mostly him checking to see if Steve had heard about Peggy, asking if Steve was okay and then asking how the dinners had gone. Steve winced and decided to answer that later as he got into the cab.

"Why are you so mopey all of a sudden?" Tony demanded as he fiddled with the fine mechanics inside the prosthetic.

It had been a week since he and Clint had last spoken. They'd exchanged maybe four texts, mostly about Lucky, since then. Considering that, Steve wasn't really sure how to answer Tony's question. "I'm not moping."

"Did someone break up with you?" Tony asked, flipping up his glasses to turn to Steve. His eyes widened almost comically at Steve's grimace. "Oh god. You _did_ get dumped." Tony paused long enough Steve thought he would have to actually answer the question. "I didn't even know you were dating!"

"It was new," Steve said defensively. "It was new and now it's over."

"What the hell for?" Tony asked. "Have you tried apologizing? Don't give your date strawberries though, stick with –with flowers or chocolates. That always worked with Pepper."

"Kind of hard to apologize for just knowing someone," Steve retorted. "Turns out my date knew my soul-bonded."

"That doesn't even matter –what bullshit, let me talk some sense into them-"

"Please don't. They've known each other for ten years –I can't hold it against him or anything."

"I would," Tony said bluntly. "Because, seriously, fuck that. Your bonded isn't into you, that's the end of that, pretty simple."

Steve resisted the urge to sigh. "Bucky's getting fitted for this tomorrow?"

"Oh yeah," Tony said, flicking his glasses down onto his face with a brief nod. "Just got to get these pieces here moving right, see…" And Tony was in the middle of a long-winded explanation on mechanical and engineering concepts that were way beyond Steve. But at least he wasn't talking about Bucky or Clint anymore. Steve listened vaguely to Tony's explanation, wondering how that would go. Whether he would bring Allison, a family member or worst of all, maybe Clint tomorrow.

In the end, Bucky came alone and the worst part was the pain when the arm connected to Bucky. Steve dropped to his knees and was pretty sure he lost consciousness for a few brief milliseconds because last he remembered he was kneeling and when he blinked again he was on the floor. Bucky was breathing hard, spitting out the mouth bite and swallowing down some painkillers as Bruce launched into an explanation of how to manage the pain and look after the arm and what warning signs to pay attention to. But, after the pain had subsided, after Steve was back on his feet, the only thing he could feel from Bucky was euphoric joy. In the middle of Bucky's blinding joy that was breezing into Steve like a refreshing wind in the summer, Clint texted.

Clint: We should talk.

Steve: Do we really need to? I thought our last conversation was pretty clear.

Clint: Breaking up with someone over text. How classy.

Steve: Pretty sure we already did this in person. Wasn't looking forward to it happening again.

Clint: I'm sorry.

Steve: So am I.

Clint: I wish things could be different.

But things weren't and they weren't ever going to change. This was Steve's life now, for better or worse. He smiled to himself bitterly. This was his life now, for worse. Bucky was happy in a relationship and Clint would move on. Steve, as always, would be left behind. He would have to make things work on his own. He felt for Bucky's happiness, seeking it out the way he had sought for thick woolen blankets when he was a sick child, and just like he had then, he drew the happiness around him like a cloak that could protect him against all the germs in the word. Except, it was a cloak of someone else's joy to ward off Steve's own sadness. And it would last for a little while, but after that, it would fade away. In preparation for that, Steve invited Sam and Riley over for ice cream and to catch up on the latest season of American Horror Story.


	11. Ho Hey

Bucky knew this was a story he would pass down to every new recruit S.H.I.E.L.D. ever made him speak with. Bucky was halfway to Phil Coulson's office when he caught sight of Peggy Carter –she was always eye-catching and today was no exception. Even though her back was straight and there was a frown on her face as she marched past Bucky. Bucky just happened to be in the right place at the right time, because Clint had just rounded the corner.

"You!" Peggy spat, stomping right up to him.

"Me?" Clint asked, blinking at her.

Bucky could tell that was the wrong move because Peggy decked him in the face and even though Bucky was about five feet away, he could hear the _crack_ followed by Clint's yowl of pain. Phil burst out of his office, hand reaching for his gun on instinct; the handful of other agents present staring at the scene in alarm.

"What the fuck?" Clint demanded, only it came out more like "wha tha fook" considering the state of his face.

"Maybe next time you'll remember to think of other people first and not yourself," Peggy said scathingly. She was still standing toe-to-toe with Clint.

Clint, wisely, staggered to the side and Peggy flounced past him, her hair bouncing behind her. Bucky stared at the scene of chaos around him and had to resist the urge to laugh. He had no idea what that was about. But he was pretty sure Clint deserved it –he usually did, when it came to women.

"Barton, my office, now," Phil said tiredly, holding his door open long enough for Clint to stagger inside.

Peggy didn't even look back.

* * *

"What do you mean you punched him in the face?" Steve asked incredulously.

"No one gets to treat my best friend that way," Peggy replied, taking a swig of her beer. "If I knew who your soul-bonded was, I'd give him a punch too."

It wasn't that Peggy had done it that was a surprise -it was that she had apparently done it in a very public place at her workplace with no care for the consequences. Actually, that wasn't all that surprising. Steve really should have known. And although he felt just the tiniest amount of bad for Clint, he was also feeling a great deal of satisfaction.

"You should have been there!" Riley enthused. "It was great. Everyone's been talking about it."

Peggy narrowed her eyes. "He hasn't given you any grief about it, has he?"

"No, not a word."

Somehow, Steve's television marathon had changed into greasy take-out, cold beer and his best friends all gathered to watch Hotel horrors unfold. Although that sounded like a great tagline for Gordon Ramsay's series. Most of Steve's attention was on his friends.

"You're allowed to be mad at him," Sam said. As always, he was the cool and rational friend.

"It was a shitty thing he did," Steve agreed. "How he did it was worse, but I'm not mad at the choice he made. I understand why he did it."

"That's not the point. He knows how you're feeling too, he could have stood to empathize a little more -and you a lot less!" Peggy argued.

Steve rolled his yes. "If Clint's unreciprocated soul-bond had turned out to be either of you, I would have dumped him too."

"So you weren't in love with him?" Riley asked.

"No," Steve answered softly. Clint had been easy and comfortable, he made Steve laugh at his dumb puns and Clint had understood Steve. But Steve hadn't been in love with the other man. Maybe, with a little more time, it would have been easy to happen. Their relationship had been moving in that direction but... Even with all that, Steve had always been aware that Clint was in love with Phil. And if Phil had become suddenly available? Clint would have left Steve without an ounce of hesitation and Steve wouldn't have faulted him for that either.

"It didn't seem like it," Peggy said cautiously.

"He was -" Steve paused. "He was fun and comfortable and I could have fallen in love with him. But we always knew that we belonged to other people." Even if Steve didn't want to admit that he belonged to anybody but himself, it was true. He had willingly tied himself to another person for the rest of his life.

"I wish you could tell us about your bonded," Peggy sighed.

Steve smiled apologetically. "I've put him through a lot -"

"And he hasn't put you through the ringer?" Peggy countered.

Steve frowned. "Unknowingly."

"Maybe it's time to tell him," Sam suggested, setting his beer down.

"What good will that do?" Steve asked. "He already feels bad about how we met and how he treated me."

"And has he offered an explanation for that?" Peggy demanded. "Steve, I'm sick of seeing you throw yourself on a cross for someone -who quite frankly -doesn't seem to care about you."

"Peggy does have a point," Riley said slowly. "I mean, nothing is going to change between you two unless you sit down and have a talk about it. An honest, upfront one. I know you don't talk about it, but we all know it hasn't been easy for you. And it won't get better unless you two make a unified decision on how to handle the side-effects."

"And if I tell him and he decides he wants nothing to do with me?"

"Maybe it'll go back to way the things were Steve -"

"It won't. That's what all the research says, it's what Clint said. You progress the bond, get more intense side-effects everytime you run into your bonded. I chose to keep with the friendship route so that maybe I could feel something other than pain and misery!" Steve set his beer down, taking a deep breath. "I don't want to go back to that. I knew what choice I was making when I made it."

"Steve..." Peggy said quietly, reaching towards him. "We're just worried about you."

"I know," Steve said slowly. "I know you are. And you're looking out for me. But I -I can't go back to feeling just his nightmares and his pain. I don't know how much longer I could have lived with that. And this -it isn't better, but I get to feel when he's happy or excited."

"Are you in love with him?" Riley pressed.

Steve frowned at the question. He'd never thought of it in those terms. He shook his head slowly. "I'm not in love with him. But his -his emotions and well-being are tied to me. I care about him and what happens to him. But I don't love him. I can't love him." Loving him would be asking for more pain, for watching as he moved on with someone else. He didn't want that.

"If you don't tell him..." Sam said slowly, watching Steve carefully. "If you don't tell him what being in an unreciprocated bond means for you, nothing will ever change. He might be mad, he might not want to talk to you but you've already lived through that and you two managed to overcome it. He might be willing to compromise -"

Steve snorted darkly in spite of himself. "Yeah? And when I tell him that when he has sex with his partner I feel every minute of it? I spend every minute crouched over a toilet, throwing my guts up, torn between wanting to die of embarrassment and being too sick to do anything about it? He knows I know his emotions, that I experience his dreams and he hates it because I'm invading his privacy. And he's right! He never asked for this. I threw my bond to him and now I'm a constant weight on his mind because I know everything he doesn't want anyone else to know without his permission. And he should be allowed to have that privacy!"

Peggy gasped. "You -you have to experience that?"

Steve nodded reluctantly.

"You have to tell him," Peggy said vehemently. "Steve, I would want to know if I were in his shoes." Sam and Riley both nodded at this. "It's awkward and uncomfortable, but he needs to know."

"Even if you don't want to burden him with more, keeping this a secret from him isn't any better," Sam pointed out. "If I were in his position, my biggest fear would always be the fact that I didn't know what you got to feel. It's not like you get every single emotion, or dream or nightmare. You're connected to him, but it's halfway there. You only know when those emotions spike. And it would be scary, in his shoes, to not know the full extent."

Steve nodded grudgingly. "I just..."

"You saved his life and he didn't ask for any of this, right?" Riley said knowingly. "But he's alive because of you. He can't resent you the same way you can't regret saving his life. You did a good thing, for good reasons. It sucks there's all this other shit around it, but if you can both get your heads out of your asses? It might still get better."

The problem was, as far as Steve was concerned, was that if he told Bucky that he experienced every time Bucky had sex, it wasn't like Steve was asking Bucky to stop having sex. And if he told Bucky that particular news, he wouldn't be surprised if the other man stopped having sex entirely because any attempt and he would suddenly be acutely aware of the fact that Steve was simultaneously experiencing it with him.

"Look at it this way," Riley said gently. "The longer he doesn't know, the bigger of an invasion of his privacy it is."

Steve winced and nodded. "Okay. Okay. I'll... tell him."

Sam clapped him on the shoulder. "It's the right thing to do."

As sure as Steve was, that it was the right thing to do, he also knew that it was something he didn't want to do for a variety of reasons. But they were right; as much as he wanted to keep things as they were, Bucky needed to know. Steve didn't want to tell him, because he was afraid that the resulting negative emotions would overwhelm him. And he was already going through enough negative emotions on his own. He didn't need to try and separate his feelings from Bucky's.

* * *

Getting in touch with Bucky was easy and he was more than willing to meet at the Black Donkey to discuss. It wasn't the busiest place, in Steve's opinion, and the karaoke wasn't half-bad. Steve was sitting in a booth tucked away at the back, where the karaoke wasn't as loud and the lighting was dim. He had a half empty glass of beer in between his hands and across from him, Bucky was draining the last of his glass. There was a basket of bread sticks and pachos between them.

"I'm sorry about Clint," Bucky had said when he first sat down. "He told me."

Steve had managed a smile. "I can't blame him, it's not an easy situation."

"For what it's worth, it hasn't been easy on him. But he should have thought things through."

That was the end of their early conversation, as they slid into talking about Steve's art and Bucky's job. Bucky spoke at length about his prosthetic, even though he was wearing his civillian version, he was excited about the other model.

"Well you probably had something in mind you wanted to talk about that wasn't work," Bucky said, setting his glass down. Steve wasn't sure that he'd ever seen Bucky so relaxed in his company before.

"Yeah," Steve agreed, feeling dread curling in his stomach. He wasn't anticipating this conversation. He'd spent days avoiding it, but Sam's voice had been nagging at him.

"What's going on?" Bucky asked, eyeing Steve in concern instead of distrust. Things had changed so much in the months since they'd run into each other.

"There's something I should have been honest with you about." Steve paused, reluctantly looking up from his glass. He'd spent his days avoiding this meeting, trying to think of a good way to explain it. "The closer we get, the more of your emotions I experience. When we first connected, it was just all the anger, resentment and sorrow from you. Pain from your loss."

Bucky shifted, folding his arms. "I'm aware. The closer soul-bonded's are, the happier their emotional spectrum can be."

"I only feel those connections when you're exuberantly happy, or in a painful nightmare," Steve said quietly. "I know how to divide whether I'm feeling those emotions or if you are. To me, it's just a brief spike of emotion, of joy when I'm doing a thankless task. Or a chore." Steve managed a smile.

"I've been researching the effects," Bucky said, lowering his arms. "Of unreciprocated soul-bonds. Although Clint has been frustratingly mute on the topic, and what academics I can find who've written thesis papers on it, they're mostly unsubstantiated. There's theories, but no proof. Other than the statistics, that those who are unreciprocated who have no connection to their bonded kill themselves."

Steve smiled slightly. "You could have asked me. I spent a year and a bit finding the papers worth reading and Clint gave me his knowledge. I don't know as much as he does though. I'm surprised he wouldn't answer your questions."

"He said it was an invasion of your privacy, that I should talk to you about it," Bucky admitted.

Steve smiled softly. He didn't know why Clint's loyalty was so surprising, but he was appreciative of it. "What questions do you have?" He didn't mean to drag the discussion out, but he was more than willing to delay it.

"Can you -are you able to know what I'm thinking or feeling whenever you want?"

"No!" Steve said adamantly. "And I wouldn't want to, if I could. The emotions come without context -just a flash of fear, or pain in my shoulder. Unless I'm there with you, I don't know what's going on. And it can be days or hours between those shared emotions." Steve paused. "Shared isn't the right word because your emotions don't belong to me. It's like an overflow, when you feel too much, it spills over into me."

Bucky's expression softened. "You don't get to choose what you feel?"

Steve set his glass aside, taking a pacho. "I don't have any control over what parts of you I get to know. My bond to you, because I gave you half my soul, makes it so that I take your suffering away. When you have nightmares, while you're lying in bed tossing and turning, gets divested and turns to me. My soul feels yours in pain and pulls that away, into me, it makes your pain mine. And maybe some nights you fall into a dreamless sleep while I wake up in the middle of a panic attack, with no conscious memories of a dream that never belonged to my imagination. Of things I've never seen, fear and pain I've never felt but somehow recognize."

Bucky reached over slowly, taking a pacho himself. He turned it over in his hand slowly, dipping it into the salsa. "I thought you had more control. Like, soul-bonds share everything."

"We aren't soul-bonded," Steve pointed out. "For me, it's a one-way dead end."

Bucky chewed thoughtfully. "I didn't know it was so different for you."

"I think of you as being surrounded by a glass wall. I tied myself to you to save your life, I get to help you whether you want it or need it but I can't share anything of myself. Whatever pieces of myself there are, they smash into that glass wall and fall away. I can't forcibly take anything from you, do anything to you, unless your own emotions are washing over the glass wall and into me."

Bucky winced. "It's so hard to find anything out online..."

"People don't like talking about us," Steve said softly. "Unreciprocated soul-bonds. It's like we're dirty or less than, because there's something deficient -something lacking, to make the person we sacrificed ourselves for not want us. I know we're a unique situation. But the research projects don't get funding -because they found the solution to the high suicide rates, which is to tie us more tightly to our bonded's so we don't die off. And sometimes, it's because people think we aren't worthy."

Steve knew what people said online; how the media painted unreciprocated soul-bonds. "I can't speak for the others, I haven't meant anyone who has an unreciprocated bond other than Clint. But people think we've done something wrong, that we might have managed to bypass the selfless concept of a bond to force ourselves onto our partner." And everytime Steve read one of those articles, saw the posts, the "discourse" that people called it, his soul ached. There were no loopholes around the selfless, well-meaning of tying yourself to another person forever, whether they reciprocated or not.

"That's garbage," Bucky growled, scowling. "I might not have been grateful, but I know you meant well. And I -I don't reciprocate because I don't want -and I never will want -a soul-bond with anyone. You're a great guy, Steve, anyone would be lucky to have you. If I could, I would free you from being tied to me."

"It's not the -"

"That bad?" Bucky supplied. "Don't worry, you don't have to lie for me. I make your life hell." He smile and it wasn't nearly as self-deprecating as Steve expected; it was almost teasing.

"Look, there's one other thing about our soul-bond I should say," Steve said reluctantly. He took a quick drink of his beer. Bucky actually looked intrigued. But there was no good way to say this so Steve went with the band-aid approach. "I vicariously experience your sex life with you, vomiting my guts up an in severe agony as I feel exactly what you're doing."

Bucky's intrigued expression turned to horror, a red flush stealing over his complexion. "What."

"It's only happened since we managed a tentative friendship. I don't know if it happens every time, but it does happen."

Bucky drew back, shaking his head. "And you're just telling me this now?"

"I didn't exactly know how to bridge the topic," Steve argued, flushing.

Bucky exhaled sharply. "So you -you suffer every time?" He ran a hand through his hair. "That's awful. Why." He appeared genuinely distressed and Steve couldn't blame him.

"Soul-bonds are meant to share everything, including sex. It's just a partial bond. My soul is wounded, knowing it can't be with you as it wants."

"I'm..." Bucky shook his head slowly. "I'm not sorry -I didn't ask to share that with you, but I am sorry you're stuck with it."

Steve relaxed. "I'm sorry about it too."

An awkward silence fell between them that neither of them knew how to broach. It seemed an impossible chasm, stretching wide open between them. Steve didn't know what he was expected to say, what he could say to change the silence. He had been honest, albeit maybe he should have told the truth sooner. He didn't want to. Even now, he wasn't sure whether to regret the confession or not. All he really knew was that the awkward heaviness didn't seem like it was going to go away anytime soon.

"I used to think that... you could read my mind. My thoughts. Whenever you wanted, just with a thought. That you could be inside my own mind," Bucky admitted, taking a sip of his beer. He wasn't watching Steve, his eyes on the pachos between them.

Steve made an offended noise. "Even if I could, I wouldn't."

"I didn't know you then," Bucky pointed out softly. "I was fresh back from being a prisoner of war -I'd broken out of the hospital, thinking that I was still there, thinking that my men had already died and I'd lost when you save me. I wasn't grateful. In between moments of lucidity, when I knew I was back in the States, I just wanted to die. I wasn't grateful.

"I... I thought it would be better if I was dead. No one could take my secrets, I could finally have my mind back, be myself. When I was... over there, I did... terrible things, Steve. Whatever medals and decorations they gave me, I did horrible things. I have nightmares about them, I wake up sometimes, thinking I'm the same person I was when they had me. When they made me someone else. Having someone else in my head -soul-bonds do share everything, after all, I was convinced you were watching everything from inside out.

"I resented you. After the years of therapy to separate the new me from the boy I'd been and the monster they made me... it took me time to come to terms with our predicament. To recognize and accept that you weren't also a monster in my head, waiting to attack." Bucky paused, lifting his gaze to Steve's. His blue eyes were somber. "I kept waiting for you to make me attack, make me kill, do depraved things that I had no control over because that's what _they_ made me do."

Steve flinched. "I had no idea."

Bucky swirled the amber liquid in his glass absently. "I didn't broadcast the fact that I'd been so badly drugged up I did horrible things." He drained the last of his drink. "But hey, I volunteered for it, so they gave me honors and medals and put me on the front page of every tabloid in the country. Bucky Barnes the decorated war hero who threw himself on the pyre to save his men." He snorted bitterly. "When I ran into you at Stark's paty, I knew better but as soon as I saw you, all my old expectations came rushing back.

"You have to understand, Steve, that while you saved my life by invading a part of my privacy, at that time, I had no privacy. There wasn't enough of me left to matter. The boy who went to war had died in that hell and the person who walked out of it had blood on his hands and voices in his head and thought killing was the only solution. What semblance of sanity I had left? Only recognized you as another person who had invaded it."

Steve glanced at the table, feeling guilt wash over him.

"Please don't say you're sorry," Bucky added. "If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't have gotten a second chance to realize how better things could get. I wouldn't have been able to get to know myself without you saving me. I just wanted you to understand why this has been... difficult."

"Well, saying 'you're welcome' just seems like a slap in the face too," Steve admitted. "I'm sorry you had to live through that. No one should have to."

"Honestly, I don't know why it's taken me this long to tell you." Bucky stopped then, smiling weakly. "Actually, I do know why. It's taken me a long time to even feel like I could tell you the truth. That when I was a prisoner, they invaded my mind and made me someone else and sometimes, when I look at you, that's all I see."

Steve wouldn't hold that against him. "I don't blame you. I'm... sorry to remind you of that."

"Don't be," Bucky said. "It isn't your fault either."

"Do you have any other questions about the bond?" Steve asked softly.

"What's it like for you?" Bucky asked. "I don't -I don't understand how it feels for you."

Steve spent a moment to find the right words. "Sometimes when I sit down to read, I feel your happiness wash over me like a soothing balm to calm me down when I wasn't even agitated. Sometimes, I'm in the middle of cooking and I get so mad that I end up breaking three eggs and wasting them for no reason. Or I'm out having a beer with a friend and suddenly I'm sad for no reason.

"Or I've just had a nice date with someone and suddenly I'm nauseous, then I'm doubling over to puke my guts up and it feels like every muscle in my body has locked up and I can barely move. But I know exactly what you're doing. I wake up from nightmares barely able to breathe, with no recollection of the dream, just the emotions."

"I wish I could free you from this one-sided situation," Bucky said apologetically. "It really isn't fair for you."

"It isn't fair to you either," Steve pointed out.

Bucky made a face. "What I said earlier, about invading my privacy, that was when I still believed you had control over... this," he gestured between them.

Steve left the pub in a daze. He'd never thought Bucky had believed he'd actively been prying into his life. He thought over Clint's cryptic words, Rebecca's reaction to him and could understand, just a little, why they had been so upset. Steve had save Bucky's life, at the cost of lengthening his therapy, at invading an destroying the sanctuary he had been searching for. He'd saved Bucky's life but, he had no doubts, that Bucky had paid for it too.

There was a nagging feeling in his gut though. What Bucky had told him explained so much, but he still didn't know why Bucky refused to tell anyone, even his own family and friends, about the fact that he was soul-bonded.

* * *

 _A/N:_

 _I also post this fic on archive of our own because I personally prefer to read from there, but I used to be pretty active over here so I maintain this fic on both. I always update here first. Anyways, over on that site I've gotten a fair few negative/disheartening comments last chapter when I last updated this that caused me to take a weekend off. And then it was my birthday, my grandparents who hadn't spoken to me in ten years said they wanted to talk but never showed, my best friend's birthday, grandparents again plus a disheartening comment, and then the week from hell at work happened and I needed to recuperate. So, here is this chapter at long last._

 _I post about the delays as they occur and why on my tumblr - Kinthinia . tumblr . com_

 _And a super special thanks to all you guys who read it here, because you have been supportive and respectful of everything that's developing in this story. So thank you._


	12. Did You Hear The Rain?

Chapter Twelve, Did You Hear The Rain?

"I have an idea," Tony Stark announced, plopping down into the seat next to Steve.

Steve suppressed the urge to sigh. Tony having ideas was either a really bad thing, or a really good one but it seemed he managed to find the bad ones more easily. Steve took a pointed bite out his sandwich, ignoring his boss.

"Oh trust me Steve, you'll wanna hear all about this one. I came up with the whole thing for you, even."

Steve glanced at him in concern. "For me?" He wasn't in need of anything.

"The whole unreciprocated soul-bond situation," Tony said, waving his hand. "I've got an idea."

Likely meaning Tony was already neck deep in his project and had just now realized he should get some input on it. Or, he'd completed it and needed a test subject. Wary, Steve set his sandwich down.

"What's your idea?"

"You're going to love it," Tony said, grinning. "I'm thinking about calling it Soul Shielder! Or maybe Cupid's Blocker, or -or! -my personal favorite 'The Soul Counter' sounds cool, right?"

"What does it do?" Steve asked. Tony had a way of wearing his patience down.

"It would, ideally, block the soul-bond. You wouldn't feel your partner. Nothing. It wouldn't be able to remove the soul-bond, you'd always be bonded, but you could pretend convincingly otherwise. No emotional bursts, no share pain, nothing. You would be wholly you, oblivious to that determined piece of soul searching for it's mate."

Steve blinked, his sandwich falling to his plate. "How would it work?"

"It'd be like a neurotransmitter," Tony said casually. "Or a neuroblocker, technically. We had to use the transmitters to find the signal and now that we've got it, we've found a way to block it. It'll shut off that annoying connection between you and You-Know-Who."

A table over, one of the other cafeteria attendees snorted a laugh. Great, just what he wanted, to be kept in the same circle as Harry Potter and Voldemort. At least Tony had thought to keep Bucky's name out of their conversation.

"An implant? Drugs?"

"Drugs," Tony said hastily. "An implant would be too expensive and way too risky. Bruce and I are working on identifying the exact neuro signal we need to target, the one that connects soul-bonded by doing a study with couples."

"So soon?"

Tony scoffed derisively. "Steve, I've been working on this since you explained the situation to me. The study will be over soon, we're pretty sure we know which transmitter it is."

"Tony," Steve said, stunned. He wasn't sure if he'd ever seen Tony quite like this.

"You can hold the applause until we know whether it works or not," Tony said, raising a hand to wave off Steve's commentary. "I can't exactly promise anything but I mean it looks _promising_." Tony smirked. "Do you want me to put your name at the top of the list for volunteers?"

Steve nodded slowly. "I... yeah." He really didn't want to keep invading Bucky's privacy. It was well within that man's right to have sex without Steve vicariously experiencing it too.

Tony flashed him an award winning smile and clapped him on the back. "Great! Because I already added you."

"So it's just a pill you take and... then you don't feel anything from the bonded?"

"Exactly. It prevents you from receiving their messages, keeps you firmly inside your own mind so you don't have to worry about whatever's going on to them or with them. There've been no side effects with any of our couples."

"Wow that's -that's great."

"We're going to offer it for free," Tony said. "Through the Maria Stark Foundation. I know Mom would be proud -and it would piss Dad off, not making money off what would easily be a get rich scheme. But once the tests and trials are over..."

"Tony that's amazing."

Tony shrugged and got up. "Well no one deserves to be stuck with an energy sucking Voldemort inside their head. See you later Steve." He shoved his hands into his pockets and strolled away with a nonchalant ease that only Tony Stark could manage.

Steve sat still for a long moment before he pulled his phone out and sent a text he didn't think he would ever end up sending.

To Clint Barton: I hear there's some studies being done to create a neuroblocker that will allow unreciprocated soul-bonds to stop feeling their bonded's.

From Clint Barton: If you'd asked me a week ago, I would've jumped for it. But... turns out my bond isn't so unreciprocated these days.

To Clint Barton: What?!

From Clint Barton: Do you wanna meet for coffee? I'm buying. It's the least I can do after...

To Clint Barton: When and where?

Steve settled down in the vacant seat across from Clint. There was still some yellow-green bruising around Clint's nose and he had a few days growth of stubble on his face. He looked the same as he always did except for the excited grin on his face.

"For someone who just had his nose broken, you look pretty happy," Steve teased.

Clint's smile turned a bit sheepish. "I'm sorry for how... things between us happened. I just needed some time to process."

"I know," Steve said magnanimously.

"I was a dick about it though," Clint muttered. He ran a han through his hair. "And I didn't need to be. Believe me, Bucky chewed me out and Peggy -well, you probably already heard."

"It worked out for you though?" Steve asked.

"It did!" And then Clint was grinning again. "It was probably the strangest turn of events too. Audrey had left Phil last week -said he spent too much time working and either he spent more time at home with her, or she was taking a job in Portland." Clint paused, his smile dimming. "She left. And then Peggy punched me and Phil called me into his office and I don't think I've ever been yelled at so much. Because then I had to explain you and then he was talking about Audrey and well one thing led to another..."

"That doesn't just lead to a complete soul-bond," Steve pointed out amusedly. Clint very obviously wanted to share more, he was practically vibrating with it but trying to be mindful of Steve's feelings. At least that was Steve's guess. But the fact that they hadn't been in love was mutual for the both of them.

"It did lead to sex," Clint said smugly.

"In his office?!" Phil did not seem like that kind of a guy.

"By the time we finished talking there was no one in the office," Clint said defensively.

Steve shook his head. "And how did the soul-bond happen?"

Clint blushed. "Well, you see, when we were having sex, we both realized we were experiencing the same things... because Phil had soul-bonded me about five years ago when I was dying in the field. And I'd been dating someone at the time -I don't even remember her name -and Phil kept quiet because he didn't want to interfere. And Phil had been with Audrey but he'd also been in love with me and I guess it just happened."

Steve blinked slowly. "So the two of you have both been in an unreciprocated bond because you wouldn't tell the other to spare their relationship?" He shook his head. "What about Audrey?"

Clint shrugged. "Phil told me that he'd told her as soon as it happened and she'd accepted that. But she needed more from him that he couldn't give her so he let her leave. He's sad about it, I can feel that, but he's also relieved and guilty because we're together now."

"I didn't even know it was possible to be in a full soul-bond and simply not know about it."

"Communication is really important," Clint said, his cheeks red. "And Phil and I are very bad at it."

"No kidding." Steve smiled at him, "But congrats though. I'm happy you guys figured that out."

"The scary thing is that we could have gone on for years without talking about it," Clint admitted. "Right now, we've decided to take things slow. Make sure we aren't going to screw up."

"Just not too slow," Steve said playfully. "Or you'll both be old and grey before you're married."

"Who said anything about marriage?" Clint snorted. "Do I look like a guy who wants to get married?"

"Phil does. You look like the kind of a guy who'd go to Vegas, get wasted and then get married by an Elvis impersonator."

"The peak of romance," Clint joked. "Phil would hate that."

Steve paused for a long moment. "Bucky told me about what happened to him. I didn't know."

Clint winced. "I know you didn't. But I also knew how he felt about things being done to him without permission. He's pretty open about that."

Steve nodded slowly. "I can see why."

Clint smiled sheepishly. "So you're going to take the miracle drug?"

"As soon as I can," Steve admitted. "I haven't told Bucky. I don't think I'll say anything until I know whether or not the drug works."

Clint nodded. "Fair enough. I won't tell him about it either."

Steve smiled uncertainly. "Thanks."

Clint shrugged it off. "You're my friend too, Steve. And for everyone's sake, I hope that solution pans out."

Steve agreed whole-heartedly. But it would take a lot of time until they knew whether or not it was going to work no matter what Tony said.

Steve walked to his appointment, still not tired of being able to enjoy such a leisurely activity without having to pull out his inhaler. Dr. Erskine ran a local practice out of a small red-brick building sandwiched next to a convinience store and a hair salon. Steve walked in and gave a friendly smile to Sharon, the receptionist. He'd been coming here so often Sharon didn't bother asking for his name or reason for the appointment -she knew who he was.

"Hey Steve, doing good?"

"Better," Steve admitted honestly. He grabbed a medical magazine from the rack and sat down nearest Sharon's desk.

"Dr. Erskine's just finishing up with an emergency patient," Sharon said, as bubbly as ever. "You're the last patient of the day."

"I don't mind," Steve said, sitting down and opening the magazine. He skimmed through the articles; most of them focusing on weight gain or weight loss and a few were about how soul-bonds could help their partner through the trying times.

Steve snorted at the poor advice and frankly most of it was offensive too. He did not need his partner to "cheerlead" him on as he worked out. The idea alone was pretty uncomfortable. He preferred the tired and true methods. Mostly Dr. Erskine's wonder pills, a better diet and spending more time at the gym. Steve flipped the page to an article about the damaging effects of consuming sugar and got lost in the factual information documenting one man's journey of proving just how damaging it could be. Steve was three quarters of the way done the article when he became aware of raised voices.

Sharon was out of her seat, one hand hovering on the phone as she peered down the hallway nervously. And then there was one single echoing pop that had Steve jumping to his feet just as the hallway door slammed open. Sharon dove for the phone and Steve watched in horror as the gunman took aim. Steve didn't think; he just acted. He dove towards the gunman. Sharon was already on the phone and had moved just a few inches when the shot went off; Sharon screamed just as Steve collided with the man, shoving his arm up desperately. He hoped Sharon wasn't hurt.

"Get off me!" the gunman growled, staring at Steve with bloodshot eyes.

Steve had wedged himself underneath the shooter's arm and had both hands keeping the gunman's arm aimed at the ceiling. Distantly he could hear Sharon's panicked sobs. But then the shooter was pounding at Steve with his free arm, fighting to get his gun free. Steve tucked his body away, letting the punches fall on his back. He could feel the gunman's arm shaking with the strain and he yelped in pain a sharp jab landed on his unprotected side and he had to do everything in his power to not slam his elbow down as another hit slammed against his side. And then the shooter was screaming incoherent threats at him and his punches uncoordinatedly landed wherever he could reach. Steve took an elbow to the cheek and had to swallow back a mouthful of blood as he steeled himself. Sirens screamed by outside and brakes squealed as officers charged in. Steve didn't know what else to do -he was holding on, just barely, as it was and if he let up for even a second, he knew the gunsman would break free.

"Lower your weapon!" an officer shouted as his partner flanked him.

The gunman did not listen. One minute Steve had been squeezing his eyes shut against the bright lights and the next there was a shadow by his face and when he opened his eyes he found there was an officer in front of him with the shooter in a chokehold. He heard the gunman's gasp and he felt the instant the other man's body collapsed. It was like he wasn't really in his own body as officers descended around him, arresting the man, sweeping up his gun and heading down with paramedics to check on the doctor.

Sharon had a bullet graze on her shoulder that one paramedic was dealing with as a police officer interviewed her. Steve was only vaguely aware of giving his statement to another officer while the paramedics rushed Dr. Erskine out on a gurney. Steve was vaguely aware that the doctor was horribly pale but apparently still alive. Blood coated his chest and then he was gone from Steve's line of sight.

"You should call a friend," advised the officer. "It's been a long traumatic day." The officer smiled kindly. "You did a great thing today -that young woman might not be here if not for you."

So that was how Steve found himself phoning Sam and waiting at a crime scene. The phone call had consisted of Steve providing the simplest details possible, answering Sam's concerned questions with as many terse one word answers as he was able. But Sam was at work and it would take him some time to get there; he was closer than any of Steve's other friends. As much as he didn't want to ask for a ride home, he could recognize the signs of shock. Part of him wanted to go to the hospital and wait for news; the rest of him seemed to be on autopilot. Steve was planning on going home and just unwinding when he saw a familiar man approach. Sometime during this whole ordeal, it had started pouring down rain. If Steve had been less familiar with his own work, he probably wouldn't have recognized Bucky Barnes underneath his umbrella but the vibranium caught the flashing police lights just right.

"Steve?!" Bucky asked, jogging over where Steve was crouched underneath the hair salon's awning. He couldn't stand being inside the doctor's office anymore.

"Hey," Steve said blankly.

Bucky sat down beside him, shielding them both from what rain was attempting to be blown in. "We should really stop running into each other like this," he said lightly.

Steve managed a weak smile.

Bucky leaned to look past him, taking in the crime scene tape and everything else. "So what happened?"

"I just -" Steve gestured towards the clinic, trying to find the words.

"Killed someone?" The genuine concern in his voice brought Steve to the sharp reminder of the fact that Bucky had been to war, that he was still serving to keep people safe.

"No! I grabbed -I grabbed his arm. I saved Sharon." He blinked. "The guy shot Dr. Erskine though..."

"Oh no, Steve... no one should have to see that."

Steve smiled sadly. "Um. Sam should be here to take me home but he's all the way at work."

"I can take you home."

"It's a long walk," Steve mumbled.

"I'll call a cab then," Bucky said, already pulling his phone out. "You look like you could use a ride and I don't mind."

Steve smiled sheepishly. "I could. Thank you Bucky..." He pulled out his phone, texting Sam to let him know that he'd run into his soul-bond and was getting a ride from him.

When he looked up, Bucky had already ended his phone call and was watching Steve with amusement. He sat back down beside him, shielding them both from the elements.

"You look like a sad, soggy puppy, it's kind of endearing."

Steve huffed and halfheartedly shoved at his shoulder.

Bucky just chuckled. "Hey, our cab's here. Come on, before you catch a cold or something." He stood up, offering Steve his hand.

Bucky pulled Steve to his feet and helped him into the cab. It was a much shorter drive and the driver was familiar with the location that Steve didn't have to offer much in the way of directions. And then the driver pulled into the small and crowded parking lot and Bucky handed over the cash.

"Did you... did you wanna come in?" Steve found himself asking, suddenly desperate to not be alone. It was like everything that had just happened was waiting to play out behind his eyelids and he wasn't waiting for it to start happening.

"Uh, sure," Bucky said, gracefully getting out of the cab, umbrella in hand. "I probably shouldn't leave you alone."

Steve shot a frustrated scowl at him. He didn't _need_ anyone to keep an eye on him. He was perfectly fine on his own. He'd managed for years.

"Okay, wait, wait," Bucky said, taking two long strides just to catch up with Steve. "What did I say wrong?"

"I don't need anyone to look after me," Steve said shortly, pulling his keys out.

"And I wasn't saying that!" Bucky said lightly. "I just meant you're upset and you shouldn't be alone. That's all."

Steve let out a long breath he hadn't even been aware of holding onto and let himself relax as he unlocked the door to his place. "It's been a long day."

"You don't have to apologize," Bucky said with an easy shrug. "I get it."

Steve let him into his house and gave him the briefest rundown that he'd probably ever given anyone. His mother had firmly believed in giving your guests a tour and while he was sad to disappoint her, he also accepted the fact that a tour was not on his list of priorities. And he was pretty sure she would understand that.

"Nice place," Bucky commented.

"Thanks," Steve said, pouring himself a glass of water. "Did you want anything to drink?" If he ignored how his hands were shaking, it almost seemed like a normal day. Except a normal day it would have been Sam in his living room, ogling the art and not his soul-bond.

"Uh, sure. Water?"

Steve poured a second glass and left it on the counter. He wasn't sure he trusted himself to walk the drink over to Bucky without spilling or dropping the glass. He took a long drink before putting his glass into the sink and heading over to where Bucky was checking out the art pieces hanging above the couch. It was his last piece from grad school, drawn after his mother had died, after Bucky had rejected him. It wasn't a pretty piece, but it was by far the most emotional of most of his pieces.

"Who drew these?"

"I did."

"They're amazing," Bucky said, eyes bright as he moved onto the next canvas.

"Thanks."

Bucky admired the watercolor landscape before turning his attention to Steve. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm not sure yet. If that... makes sense."

"You're probably in shock."

Steve thought about some of the clients Sam talked about, about the signs and symptoms and realized he probably was in shock. He nodded as though this was some sort of normal occurence. He didn't even know what was wrong with him. Bucky grabbed a fuzzy wool blanket off the couch, the one that Steve only used in the dead of winter or when he was fighting a cold. He never could remember to put it away. Bucky wrapped it around Steve's shoulders efficiently and Steve obediently clasped it shut. The warmth was nice, he wasn't going to lie.

"You really like taking care of people, huh?" he asked. The last time he and Bucky had been alone in Bucky's house, Bucky had ended up bandaging Steve up unnecessarily. It was kind of endearing, if he had to be honest.

Bucky nodded. "You caught me. Now, how about you go rest? I can stay here if you want."

"If you're sure..."

"Yeah, I'll be fine. Go rest."

Steve shuffled off to his room reluctantly. He paused at the doorway. "My friend, Sam, might drop in to check on me."

"You want me to let him in if he does?"

"Well, yeah." Of course Sam was welcome. "But just so you know, Sam doesn't uh... I haven't told my friends who you are. They know I have a soul-bond and they know the circumstances on my part but I... didn't want to invade more of your life."

Bucky flashed Steve a smile. "Okay. Got it. Now go nap already before you fall over."

Steve flipped him the bird but the effect _was_ ruined by a jaw cracking yawn. He didn't even get the chance to argue Bucky's point because the other man was grinning and waving him off. Steve huffed and closed his door halfway, flopping onto his bed fully clothed and letting his eyes drift shut. He was almost fully asleep before he realized that this was the first time he'd invited someone over since Clint. Well, someone that he didn't know well. And that thought woke him up a little. Because what he did know of Bucky was that he had been through a horrific experience, the kind that could turn good men bad but instead, here Bucky was, taking care of Steve with some kind of practiced ease. And Steve was a notoriously awful patient for anyone. He had spent most of his childhood at home sick and as an adult he stubbornly refused to do the same unless he physically couldn't leave his bed.

Sleep wasn't far behind him. And the nightmares were even closer.


	13. I Found

Steve woke with a start, breathing hard. It was the tail end of the nightmare that woke him but the sound of his front door opening had him moving. He glanced at his clock -he'd slept for maybe an hour at most, just long enough for the nightmare to creep in. He attempted to fix his hair which was a little damp and a great deal mussed as he shuffled out to the living room. It gave him the perfect view to his front door where he could see Sam and Bucky.

Bucky leaned against the doorway casually, holding it open. "I'm James Barnes -my friends call me Bucky though," he was saying in response to Sam's bewildered face.

Not that Steve could blame Sam -his social circle primarily consisted of Peggy, Riley, Sam and recently Clint. Outside of that, Steve only had work friends and he wasn't really sure that Tony fit the bill for that. But even then, Steve had chatted and complained about Tony often enough that Sam would have put two and two together if Tony was the one answering Steve's door.

"Sam Wilson. Sorry to ask but I'm just... How do you know Steve?"

Steve knew Sam was putting it together. Steve had sent him a message that his soul-bond was driving him home after all. What was Sam looking for?

Bucky stepped aside. "He saved my life once."

And then there was a pause, lengthy and heavy. One where Sam knew exactly what that had to mean and another where Bucky seemed conflicted over whether to say more or not. Steve was about to speak up, let them know he was awake when he saw Bucky take a breath. "He's soul-bound to me."

"I thought you didn't advertise that fact," Sam said coolly.

Whatever thoughts Steve had of interrupting them vanished. He wanted to know the answer to that question as well.

"I..." Bucky hesitated. "I owe that answer to Steve first."

"How is he?" Sam asked, his curiosity melting into concern.

"Better than I was," Steve answered, recognizing that the moment had slipped past him.

Bucky turned quickly. "And how long have you been eavesdropping?" he teased.

"It is my house and you're both standing in my living room; it's not like I was hiding. Couple of minutes, maybe."

Bucky's shoulders dropped. "Couldn't sleep?"

Steve shook his head, glancing between his two friends who had certainly seen and heard a number of horror stories. "Nightmare," he admitted honestly, knowing they would understand. He felt a thread of embarrassment unfurl in his gut regardless.

"I'm sorry Steve," Sam said. "The story's been all over the news though -they said the guy was trying to steal methadone?"

Steve shrugged. "I don't know. I just... stopped him." He smiled a little. Yeah, he'd stopped a criminal. And it felt good.

"My hero," Bucky said, and there was nothing but pride on his face.

Steve flushed and rolled his eyes. "So you've met Sam!"

"I just wanted to make sure you were okay. See if you needed any company," Sam said, nodding towards Bucky. "But I can go if I'm not needed."

"You could stay for dinner," Steve said impulsively. "Both of you."

He wanted his friends to get to know his soul-bond. And at least Sam wasn't likely to deck Bucky in the face. Even if it meant Steve had to improvise on what to make for dinner -so long as they could stand to be in a room together Steve would be willing to do many things. Up to and including dancing an Irish jig or singing a Gaelic lullaby. Both required skill sets he lacked. Two left feet and only childhood memories of the songs his mother used to hum when she thought he was asleep would have definitely amused Sam and made for some nice blackmail material later on. That was only a last ditch effort though.

"I'm free," Sam said slowly. "I'll just shoot Riley a text -he thought he'd be working late anyways."

"I can stay," Bucky said slowly, casting a concerned look at Steve.

Steve smiled. "Thanks, I just really don't feel like being on my own right now."

It wasn't a lie, he rationalized, because he knew that if they left, he'd just start thinking about what had happened. However, it wasn't the entire truth. He wanted Sam's approval. And, maybe just a little bit, he wanted Sam to grill Bucky.

Naturally, once Riley was updated, Sam and Bucky were both happy to volunteer themselves for helping cook. But as roomy as Steve's house was, not even his kitchen could fit three grown men trying to accomplish the same task. Bucky offered to take care of the clean up when they were done and stayed out of their way.

"Well, I understand why you were so set on protecting his privacy," Sam said lightly as he minced an onion.

Steve glanced at Bucky, who was setting the table, and then back to the mushrooms he was slicing. "It was a bad time for him. I was trying to not make it worse."

"He seems a lot better about the whole situation."

"He's been working on it, I think," Steve offered quietly. "And since we're trying friendship out it's been easier for us both."

Sam nodded, sweeping the onions into the tomato sauce. "Y'know Peggy and Riley are both going to be pissed about this."

"Just 'cause you got to meet him, doesn't mean I'm throwing him to the wolves."

"Peggy can play nice," Sam pointed out.

"On a good day," Steve said, adding the mushrooms. "I know she won't tear him apart and she'll understand once she knows but..."

"You're nervous," Sam said quietly. "Figure it out later."

Steve glanced back to find Bucky had wandered over to admire more of the art. With two exceptions, all the pieces were his. The first piece of art that wasn't his own making, he'd bought only once he'd been employed by Stark for half a year. The first he bought had been his mother's favorite piece and had cost nearly three paycheques. The second was a slightly less expensive Irish landscape.

"Go talk to him," Sam said, elbowing Steve. "I've got this covered."

Steve reluctantly left behind his vegetables to make his way toward Bucky. Bucky had his prosthetic hand tucked into his pocket as he gazed at the picture of the Irish landscape.

"My mother's family lives there," Steve said, gesturing at the edges of a city that brush strokes had painstakingly brought to life.

"Where is it?"

"Rathfarnham, south of Dublin, Ireland," Steve said, smiling.

"That's a mouthful."

"Tell me about it," Steve said, chuckling. "I don't think I could pronounce it until I was about ten and by then I'd already done three school projects on my family ancestry."

"Those were the worst, right? My family's been in New York for ages but suddenly it wasn't good enough and I had to track down where we came from. Virginia, according to my grandmother."

"I always wanted to go there," Steve said, admiring the rolling green hills. "And when I saw this -well, I had to buy it."

"I wouldn't mind going there either, I mean the place looks beautiful."

"Yeah?"

Bucky nodded. "Why haven't you gone yet?"

Steve blinked in surprise. "I was going to go with my mom. After I graduated and had enough saved up, we were both going to go. But after she died..."

"You didn't have as strong a reason to go?" Bucky asked sympathetically.

"Pretty much," Steve replied softly.

"How did she pass?"

"Cancer," Steve said quietly. The words came to his lips then, like they'd been waiting for a chance to jump out and strangle Bucky. 'She died the day I bonded you.'

"How old were you?"

"Nineteen," Steve said in a clipped voice. Bucky didn't need to know. He didn't. But if Bucky never knew, then it would always be that Steve was holding something back and he was supposed to be honest. They were supposed to be honest with each other. "She... she had just died, actually, when I -when I bonded you."

"Oh shit, Steve," Bucky said, turning to him.

Steve winced. "Please don't apologize. You weren't in a good place and neither was I."

Bucky closed his mouth slowly, and took a deep breath. "We didn't exactly help each other with those spaces, either..."

"No, we didn't," Steve replied softly. "And for the longest time, the only thing I'd ever known about you was that on the day my mother died and I bound myself to you, you... weren't so kind. To be honest, it's the only thing my friends really know concretely about you."

"If you want me to meet them, I'm open to that," Bucky said gently.

"Unless you're willing to tell them why you didn't want anyone else to know about the soul-bond, then I don't think that's a good idea. Sam is the most forgiving of my friends and the most patient."

Bucky tipped his head back and sighed. "I would like to tell you first. I owe you that much."

"Then tell me," Steve snapped.

He was tired of wondering, of guessing, of never knowing anything about Bucky that wasn't public knowledge. The last few weeks had seen plenty of change in his understanding of Bucky, but it felt like there were mountains dividing them from what they left unsaid.

Bucky gazed down at him. "Okay. But it's... it's not an excuse. It doesn't make it okay and I know that but it's the truth. Everyone in my family is soul-bonded to the person they knew they'd spend the rest of their life with.

"My grandparents were childhood friends, engaged and bonded when they were sixteen; my parents met in their early teens, high school sweethearts married and bonded at eighteen. Tabby met Gideon in high school on an exchange program and he decided to stay here for her -they were bonded within three months. Daniel lived across the street from us, Rebecca's known him her whole life; he asked her to his prom and they were bonded that night.

"Everyone in my family has known each other for so long, so well, it's like they can read their partner's mind. That's why I was confused by you. And -" Bucky sighed loudly. "And for a while I hated that you were my soul-bond. Steve, I've never been fair to you. I've never given you a chance..."

That hurt. And no wonder Rebecca had been mad. She probably thought it was Steve's fault for taking away Bucky's chance to fall in love with someone he'd known forever. That Steve interfered in Bucky's fated meeting of the love of his life.

"I know," Steve said tiredly. "We got off on the wrong foot and we're still trying to fix it. I'm sorry I -I took your future away."

"You didn't!" Bucky said hastily, eyes wide "That was taken when I was captured and my brain got turned inside out. It wasn't you."

"You don't think I took that chance away from you?" Steve asked, surprised. "I've been turned down because of you. Several times."

Bucky smiled apologetically. "You don't deserve that. You saved my life Steve."

Steve glanced away. "Your respect means a lot."

"Steve, I..."

"Dinner's ready guys!" Sam called cheerfully.

Steve looked back at Bucky curiously.

"I'll tell Sam. If you're okay with him knowing."

"Yeah, course I am. You're both my friends."

* * *

"You didn't want people to know because you felt ashamed," Sam summarized, eyebrows raised skeptically.

Bucky winced. "It's more complicated than that. It means the world to my family to be soul-bonded. I don't want them to know because if they know, they'll start pressuring us to get married. Because soul-bonds are for life and they're fate."

"Your family's really traditional," Sam said, surprised. "I honestly thought you were going to tell me they would disown you for having been soul-bonded instead of getting married."

"No," Bucky sighed. "No. They just believe that fate knows all the answers and what will be, will be."

"Soul-bonds work by choice, so it's an unusual position to take," Sam said thoughtfully.

"I never meant to affect Steve's life like this," Bucky admitted.

"I did have a major part to play in all this," Steve pointed out wryly. "Seeing as how I'm the one who chose to save your life by bonding you."

"Steve," Bucky and Sam said at the same time. They both stopped to stare uneasily at one another.

It was Bucky who continued first. "You have to deal with me all the time and you can't even shut me out. You don't even get any benefits other than the fact that I'm alive due to you."

"I don't need benefits to do a good thing!" Steve said, offended.

"We know," Sam and Bucky said again in unison. They shared another uneasy glance.

Steve huffed.

"How does your family feel about soul-bonds?" Bucky asked, changing the topic deftly.

"My mama believes that soul-bonds should cement a relationship, not start it. A nice way to really bind a marriage, but she's open-minded to the fact that it happens differently for other people."

"My mother just said to be careful who I bonded myself to, as I could only do it once," Steve said lightly. "She and my father were bonded young and his death nearly killed her too. But she would have supported any decision I made."

Bucky swept his garlic bread across his plate, wiping up any remaining sauce. "There's another family dinner coming up. Steve, if you want, you're welcome to come. I'm going to tell them the truth."

Steve glanced at him in surprise. "Are you sure?"

"I've been trying to tell them for the last month," Bucky said softly. "I wanted to tell you that I had told them before I told you everything. But you asked and you deserved the answer."

"I'll go with you," Steve said. "You don't have to tell them alone."

Bucky smiled slightly. "You don't have to. They'll probably throw some kind of grand celebration no matter what we say."

"What about your girlfriend?"

"I broke up with her a while ago," Bucky admitted. "We didn't get on all that well and my family was unimpressed by her."

"Oh," Steve replied ineloquently.

"My being single just means they'll expect us to end up in a relationship," Bucky sighed.

"I can handle that," Steve said, more confidently than he felt. He had no idea how such a situation would actually make him feel.

"Well, good luck to you both," Sam laughed, holding his glass of water up in a silent toast.

Bucky grinned, "Thanks, I'll need it and I will take all the extra luck if Steve's going to be passing."

Steve snorted. "I don't need luck. I'm charming, your family already approves."

Except for Rebecca. And maybe everyone else when the truth came out. But Bucky was the one who needed support right now and Steve was looking forward to everyone knowing the truth. He was tired of all the secrets, all the little lies and omissions.

"I'm definitely taking that extra luck," Bucky said, toasting Sam and taking a long drink. "All of it, before my family embarrasses me to death."

* * *

Sam apologized for having to leave early but Riley was expecting him and provided Steve didn't want Riley and Peggy breaking down his door, Sam didn't have a reason to stay longer. If Sam talked about the shooting and Steve needing extra support, they would both show up in seconds. But if Sam mentioned Steve's mystery soul-bond being present, there would be nothing stopping Peggy and Riley from descending. So Sam made an apologetic exit, leaving Steve and Bucky alone once more.

Bucky gathered up their dirty dishes and then waved Steve off when he attempted to help. (Sarah would have boxed his ears; letting a _guest_ do clean-up? Steve never would have heard the end of it.)

"It's the least I can do," Bucky explained. "I didn't get to help make dinner and my Ma would have my head if I did nothing."

"Mine would clout me upside the head for not helping," Steve pointed out. "I'll dry if you wash?"

Bucky grinned at him. "Mister teamwork, huh? You could just sit back and let me do this for you." He dropped the plug in and flicked the hot water on.

Steve rolled his eyes. "Not my style, James. There's enough counter space for two if you'd stop hogging it all."

Bucky took a dramatic step to the side, wedging himself comfortably into the corner. "Just how much space do you need to dry dishes _Steven_?" He poured a little soap into the water.

"All of it," Steve replied, planting himself in front of the sink, elbow out to bump against Bucky's. "See, you're still in my way."

Bucky elbowed him back, laughing. "Calm down there, before you take my kidney out!" He reached across the sink, turning the water off.

Steve laughed despite himself and took up a more reasonable amount of space. "You know, if I take up extra space it's only so that tall, muscular asshats like you can't bully me around."

Bucky gasped dramatically. "You think I'm handsome?" He flexed impressively. "I didn't know you were such a romantic, Steve."

Steve rolled his eyes, pulling a towel out and spreading it over the counter top. "I don't know about that. Muscular, yes. Handsome..." he frowned, peering at Bucky in faux consideration, "not so much."

Bucky squawked indignantly, shoving a plate into the soapy water. "I guess I should be glad you don't just want me for my muscles then," he said with a teasing smile.

"I thought that's what you came over for?" Steve said, fighting off a grin. "I've been meaning to redecorate for awhile."

"I can switch your bedroom and your living room," Bucky joked. "Part of a new artistic experiment right? Or is it a hipster one?"

Steve hip checked Bucky. "Don't even joke; I'm no hipster!"

"Those glasses say otherwise," Bucky said solemnly. "Did no one tell you?"

"It's a _popular_ style," Steve corrected him.

"Right, right. And I bet you've liked it since before it got trendy," Bucky teased.

Steve felt the tips of his ears turn red. "I have but -but that's not because I'm a hipster!"

Bucky laughed warmly, passing another dish to Steve. "I bet I've never even heard of your favorite bands either."

Steve made a noise of mock offense. "How about Elvis Presley or Queen?"

"Oh, so you like your musicians dead cold instead of just a nobody."

"I am offended on their behalf."

"Your classic rock-stars or the hipsters?"

Steve flicked his dish cloth against Bucky's arm in retaliation. Bucky just laughed. As Steve dried off the last dish, Bucky started helping to put them away. And as there were fewer and fewer dishes, Steve felt his anxiety begin to rise. Bucky would be leaving soon, it was already well past evening and Steve would be alone with his nightmares. Well, it wouldn't be the first time and he doubted that it would be the last anytime soon.

"You okay?" Bucky asked, leaning back against the counter.

"Not really looking forward to being alone tonight," Steve admitted with a tired sigh.

"I can stay as long as you need," Bucky offered kindly.

"You've been here for hours."

"It's not boring."

"Oh yeah, washing dishes, admiring the artwork. That's the definition of not boring."

"It's not that bad."

"You don't have to spare my feelings," Steve said, frowning at him.

"I'm not, Mr. Grumpy-pants," Bucky replied. "Really. I like looking at your art."

Steve bit back his retort. No one liked doing dishes. He took a deep breath. "Sorry, I don't mean to be so grumpy. I am tired."

"Well let's go lay down then."

"I can't ask you to do that! I'm not going to sleep well. I'll probably toss and turn all night -it won't be fair to keep you awake."

"My bad dreams have kept you awake for years. I can handle losing one maybe good night of sleep for you."

"You sure?"

"Let me help you," Bucky pleaded softly. It was the earnestness in his blue eyes that made Steve relent.

He wasn't opposed to Bucky being around, or to being open with him but he didn't want to bother Bucky about it either.

"You know you don't owe me anything, right?"

"Of course I do," Bucky said. "Steve, let's go lay down before you pass out. And I'm not taking no for an answer."

Steve could feel sleep weighing on his eyelids, dragging them lower and the way his muscles felt overextended. He nodded and led the way to his room. The last time he'd had someone over had been Clint and -actually, he couldn't remember if the last time Clint had been over had been spent in his bed or not. In the end, it didn't really matter. Bucky was here now to help Steve sleep.

The shame of it was a small, niggling feeling in the back of his brain. The fact that he wanted someone with him through the night after stopping a shooting. He'd been the hero. And now he was just craving some human connection that didn't involve violence. Like the last two or three hours hadn't been enough. But it was okay. Bucky had volunteered and made his stance clear and Steve had no real desire to fight it because he really didn't want to be alone.

When he was younger and living nightmares, they were the sad sort of memories. Reliving his mother's death, the moment of Bucky's rejection. Sometimes, the bad dreams were just bad because they showed him a reality he would never get to experience -his mother watching him graduate for instance. Mostly, his nightmares existed as a jumbled series of panicked emotions and sensations that he had no context for because they were filtering in from Bucky. And once he had started to feel Bucky's nightmares, he had realized his dreams hardly held up.

There was a long awkward moment as they both lay down on Steve's king-sized bed. Steve laid on his back, trying to keep to himself as much as he could. Not that it was really necessary, since Bucky was an arm length away and spread out on his side. Between the two of them, Bucky definitely appeared more at ease. And then Bucky stretched out and rolled onto his back.

"No need to take up all the space. Or I might have to evict you," Steve joked with an ease he didn't feel. Poking fun at Bucky felt more natural than anything else and with Bucky's warm laugh, some of the tension seemed to drain away.

"Fine," Bucky chuckled, sprawling onto his side again. This time he was further from Steve, a bit closer to the edge of the bed. "Better?"

Steve grinned and playfully stretched out like a starfish. He wiggled his fingers, almost able to touch Bucky's nose.

"Who's being a bed hog now, shortie," Bucky retorted, wrinkling his nose.

"You did not just call me short!" Steve protested, mock offended.

"What, you gonna kick me with your tiny feet next?"

Steve laughed mid-yawn and halfheartedly kicked at Bucky's leg. "I'm trying to sleep."

Steve felt Bucky chuckle in response. But Steve's eyes were already closed and he could feel how tired he was. He drew his legs back into a more comfortable position and fell asleep. It was dark in his room, the curtains closed to block the sun and the only noise was of Bucky's light breaths. It was hard to tell time. Steve thought he woke up once -but it could have just as easily been a dream -to Bucky murmuring soothingly, his hand on Steve's back.

Later Steve fumbled into wakefulness, his heart pounding as he sluggishly reached around him, trying to find something to prove he wasn't there anymore. Behind his eyelids he could still see the image of the gunman turning towards him, finger on the trigger and all Steve could do was watch the bullet fly towards him. Steve grabbed Bucky's arm and felt relief wash through him -he wasn't in the dark clinic, he was still at home, in his bed. He was still alive. Dimly he was aware of Bucky wrapping his arms around him, mumbling something under his breath. Exhausted, Steve slipped back into sleep.


	14. Unconditionally

Steve stretched out slowly, smiling to himself when the scent of sizzling bacon and fresh coffee reached him. He got up, taking a minute to adjust his sleep-wrinkled clothing before padding out to the kitchen. Bucky was standing at the stove, flipping a pancake into the air with enviable ease. He offered Steve a grin as he caught the pancake back into the frying pan. Steve poured them each a cup of coffee, noticing the plate of pancakes piled high next to the coffee machine.

"Planning on feeding an army, are you?" Steve teased.

"Trust me, once you get a taste of my cooking, you'll want leftovers for days."

"They're just pancakes," he pointed out, leaning against the counter to watch Bucky.

"No, no, no," Bucky said mournfully. "They're _my_ pancakes. You'll see."

"Next I suppose you'll tell me I can't eat one without syrup," Steve said wryly, eyeing the stack. He'd have leftovers for a week, judging by the amount sitting on the plate.

"So sacrilegious, Stevie. Of course you use syrup with them –and if for some reason you hate them, I will take them with me." The way he said it suggested it was impossible for such a thing to happen.

Steve took a sip of his coffee, using one hand to grab two plates as he set the table. Bucky finished cooking just as Steve sat down with his coffee. Bucky flashed him a bright, expectant grin as he set the serving platters for the pancakes and bacon down.

"I swear your mind is going to be blown."

Steve speared a pancake onto his plate. "Yeah, the way you whisk your eggs is to die for," he deadpanned.

Bucky sat down, dragging four onto his plate. "Keep talking like that. Who made breakfast?"

Steve rolled his eyes. "Thank you for breakfast, oh great master chef." He grabbed several strips of bacon.

"You better be," Bucky teased, taking a sip of his coffee.

Steve shook his head and cut off a piece of pancake with dramatic care. He waggled his brows at Bucky playfully and stuffed the piece into his mouth. And his jaw nearly dropped in surprise at the cinnamon-y deliciousness that met his taste buds.

Bucky crowed in delight. "Told you!"

Steve rolled his eyes. "Yeah, okay, it's pretty good."

It was better than pretty good. They were the best pancakes Steve had ever tasted –fluffy pieces of cake infused with cinnamon and vanilla, the syrup served to enhance the flavors. Steve ate until he was stuffed and Bucky watched with smug satisfaction.

"I'll keep the leftovers," Steve said with as much dignity as he could muster.

Bucky grinned at him. "Well alright then."

Steve finished the rest of his coffee and started packing the leftovers up. Yeah, he'd finish the rest off by tomorrow if not sooner. He was scrubbing out the frying pan when Bucky's emotions caught him off guard. It was the light ease of contentment and something else –like a fluttery, happy feeling. Steve smiled to himself and finished scrubbing out the pan. Steve glanced over at Bucky who was texting intently in the dining room.

"I've got to head to work," Bucky said apologetically, tucking his phone into his pocket. "You sure you want to come to my family dinner?"

"If you don't want me, I won't," Steve said, suddenly concerned that he had overstepped his bounds. He dried his hands on the dish towel, turning to face Bucky.

"I don't want to do it alone, but that's no reason to force my family on you."

Steve shook his head. "I don't mind."

"Alright. Well it's this Friday, five o'clock. Brace yourself."

And then, Bucky left. Steve barely had a chance to say goodbye and somehow the words to thank him for last night got tangled up in his head as he watched the door shut.

At work everyone wanted to know about what happened at his doctor's office and of course Tony threw a (thankfully small) party for Steve in the labs. Steve ended up with a newspaper shoved in his hands where the reporter documented how a small hero ended up saving a good man's life. Dr. Erskine was in critical condition but said to be recovering. And he had been robbed because Heinz Kruger was searching for methadone that he knew was stored at Dr. Erskine's practice. Steve was uncomfortable with all the attention, a fact that Bruce seemed to clue in on immediately as he led Steve aside with a plate of food and drink and some peace and quiet in Bruce's part of the lab. Tony almost made it over to talk with Steve but Bruce was on interception duty and successfully led Tony away each time.

Peggy and Riley both stopped by to visit and check up on Steve after work and when they were satisfied; they drove him home and promised to visit later. Steve wanted to tell them but somehow it didn't seem like the right time to tell them about Bucky. When he removed his jacket, he found Tony had slipped him a consent form regarding the drug that would block Bucky's emotions out entirely. The trials would start in a week or two. Steve signed it and emailed it off to J.A.R.V.I.S.

Without Bucky at his side, sleeping proved to be challenging. His nightmares merged with Bucky's.

* * *

 _There were twenty men wearing dust colored masks, their clothing shades of tan to blend in to the sandy environment. They all had their guns draw and pointed at Steve. Between them, tied together were Sam, Peggy and two men Steve had never seen before. The leader –he had to be the leader, he had the biggest gun and a black insignia on his jacket lapel Steve didn't recognize._

" _You're outnumbered and we've got your comrades here."_

 _For a minute, Sam and Peggy's faces flashed to someone else's. The dust gave away to a pristine, white hallway. Steve was strapped down on a gurney, wheeling down the hallway at breakneck speed and Steve was screaming behind the leather bit but no one heard. In the distance a gunshot echoed and Sharon screamed. Steve lurched against the straps but nothing gave as they wheeled him into some sort of a surgical room. There were strobe lights and men in white lab coats, surgical masks over their faces._

 _Pain. Beep. Pain. Beep._

 _Machines beeped in his ears, loud, and overwhelming._

 _He would do anything to make it stop._

 _It was like they heard his thoughts; it was like they knew everything that made him who he was. They ripped him free of the straps, shoved clothing at him and hauled him outside where they put a gun in his hand and aimed him at the kneeling figure. There was a black hood over his head._

" _Shoot."_

 _Pain._

 _Beep._

 _Steve fired._

 _The body twitched once, not even a making a wounded noise before it collapsed back against the sand, red blood staining black. Steve could see the proud, smug expressions his captors exchanged with one another. They led him back inside, this time through dirty tunnels and into a dark cavern. He could see Sam and Peggy clutching each other, wariness painted onto their faces where there weren't bruises or dirt. Beside them, the other two men appeared in similar condition._

 _Machines beeped in the background, a steady, soothing noise. Everything was okay. It was a blur of faceless bodies, a gunshot blast echoing down a corridor, blood splattering everywhere. Steady in the background, the lone beep of a heartbeat monitor. And then the beep stopped, and that other noise blasted through his mind and he dropped to his knees in front of one of the bodies. This one had a face, he knew that face –it was Rebecca. Only it couldn't be, her skin was darker, her eyes cold and unstaring, her body lifeless and she was wearing a hijab and he had killed her._

Steve jerked awake violently, his heart pounding and his head aching. The sounds seemed to chase after him, gunshots, people begging for their lives and the rhythmic firing of his gun on the innocents. He was fumbling for his phone before he was really aware of having made the decision. He sat up, throwing the sheets off his sweaty skin as he called Bucky. He couldn't remember ever feeling quite so disturbed by a nightmare before. Steve thought he was going to have to leave a voicemail and was about to hang up when the ringing cut out.

"Steve?" Bucky asked hoarsely.

"Hey Buck," Steve said quietly, pushing damp hair back from his face.

"You saw all that?"

"Yeah."

"Shit." Bucky sighed heavily.

"Did –did all of that really happen?"

"Yes," Bucky said faintly.

Steve stared into the darkness of his bedroom, the weight of his nightmare settling heavier as he realized there was truth in it.

"They, uh, used this beeping machine to –to condition me to respond to the pain. So they could just –just, make the noise and I'd obey because if I didn't, they'd do, well, any number of things to me. So I just… obeyed when they wanted me to. I couldn't –I wasn't in a place to not, to be able to say no. They –Christ, they took my arm. They had my men captive. I had to."

"You don't have to explain yourself to me," Steve said quickly. "You were surviving."

Bucky choked back what might have been a sob. "I was killing people. That's what I was doing, Steve. Because if I didn't, they would kill my men, they would torture me; they'd torture my men and make me _watch_."

Steve winced. "You're here now, you're safe right now. Your men are alive."

"They made me into a killing machine through conditioning me. And once the conditions were met, I never questioned them, I never fought. I never even tried to." Bucky paused. "Eventually, they stopped using the beeps and I… I don't know how long it took me, before I realized what they'd done."

"You aren't that person anymore."

"I wish the nightmares would stop," Bucky said brokenly. "I wish you didn't have to see just how much of a monster I am."

"You are not a monster!" Steve snapped. "You are James Barnes –you were a prisoner of war to men who made you do very bad things. You lost your arm saving one of your men; you followed their twisted commands in order to keep your men alive. You did bad things only because if you didn't, they hurt your or your men, but if you did what they said they wouldn't hurt you or the people you cared about. Torture never broke you –you adapted to it to survive."

Despite the fact that Bucky was a hero to many, to his men, Steve didn't bring it up. He didn't think it was possible for Bucky to feel like a hero having murdered innocent people on orders, and Steve had a sinking suspicion that Bucky had done a lot more than just murder innocents. But it wasn't as though Bucky had a choice in the matter.

"You think that's a good thing?" Bucky asked quietly.

"I think it means you survived," Steve answered solemnly. "And I know I'm not the only one happy you're here today."

Steve was surprised by how much he meant it. Sure, things between him and Bucky had been rough and uncertain for a long time but Bucky was a good person. He was strangely protective –like when Steve had hurt his hands defending Lucky. Bucky also genuinely seemed to want good things for Steve and he was caring, he'd stayed the night when he didn't have to and he even made breakfast. Since they'd worked past their initial meeting, Bucky had been kind and understanding. Steve hadn't even realized just how closely they had come as friends. Steve hadn't even hesitated to have Bucky in his house, let alone in his bed. As close as Steve was with Sam or even Riley, he wouldn't have cuddled the night away with them or Peggy. Not even when they'd been single.

Bucky laughed wetly. "Sorry Steve –I didn't mean –I just. I know. I'm happy to be here too." He inhaled deeply. "Well, this is maudlin."

Steve huffed out a laugh. "We did just have a terrible nightmare."

"It doesn't seem really useful to be able to share dreams or nightmares," Bucky said, sounding tired.

"If they were happy, maybe," Steve countered.

"Wouldn't that be something to feel?" Bucky asked softly.

"Yeah," Steve said, equally as soft.

But he wouldn't get to share those feelings. Unless Bucky suddenly reciprocated the bond, he would never get that chance. If Tony's new medication worked the way he thought it would, Steve would be able to stop these nightmares. He could leave Bucky alone to suffer. For the first time since Tony had broached the subject, Steve stopped to wonder whether it was a good idea or not. He could silence Bucky, forever stay out of the other man's head. He would never have to know when Bucky was having sex, he wouldn't get to know how happy or sad Bucky was, and he wouldn't be able to ease his suffering by experiencing it too.

Then again, if there was one thing Bucky would appreciate, it would be having Steve out of his mind. And Steve couldn't fault him for that. Bucky would be able to move on, to find someone who could comfort him and ease him the way that married couples did. Soul-bonding wasn't the only answer out there. And even if Steve couldn't have a soul-bond with someone else, he could have a good marriage. A happy life. But he would lose Bucky –there would be nothing tying them together. Maybe that would be better for the both of them though, they could just drift apart.

Steve frowned. He didn't want them to drift apart.

"Well, thanks for the talk Steve."

"Anytime."

Bucky laughed self-deprecatingly. "Maybe we can try to talk less in the middle of the night?"

Steve smiled sadly. "I'd like that."

Bucky sighed tiredly. "I should let you get some sleep."

"I don't think I'm going to be getting any."

"Me neither."

"Why don't we talk longer, until our nerves get settled?"

"Yeah, that –that'd be okay. Let me just make a cup of tea."

* * *

Friday came by and Steve found he was back at Hamilton Beach, standing in front of the Barnes' front door. Except this time, instead of having Clint at his side, it was Bucky. Bucky shared a nervous smile with him and knocked before entering. Tabby was sitting beside Gideon, bouncing Artemis carefully.

"Is that Bucky?" Winifred called, peering through the kitchen window to check on them. "And Steve!"

Steve raised his hand in greeting.

"I didn't think you'd be coming by so soon Steve," Rebecca said, looking between them.

Steve glanced at Bucky –Bucky hadn't mentioned whether or not he'd told his family Steve would be joining them, and judging by Rebecca's pointed remarks, he probably hadn't mentioned the fact. Bucky smiled apologetically.

"He volunteered," Bucky said, shoving his left hand into his pocket. "I, uh, have something I wanted to talk to everyone about."

Winifred hurried to stand in the kitchen doorway, eyes wide with concern. George stood behind her, one hand on her shoulder. Winifred quickly clasped his hand. Even Aubree set aside her tablet to watch them warily.

"Is everything okay?" Winifred asked, squeezing her husband's hand.

"There's something –something I haven't been honest about and I've been trying to figure out how to tell you guys," Bucky said cautiously. He shifted his weight from foot to foot. "When –when Steve saved me, he –he had to bond me. It was the only way I would –survive."

Steve thought there would have been a million questions or more. Instead, there was a suffocating silence. He wasn't sure which was worse.

"And I didn't want anyone to know. I mean, I know how much it means to everyone. And it's not like Steve had a choice, and I didn't have a choice. I mean, I'm here now. Because of Steve."

"Because of Steve's sacrifice," Tabby said softly, gazing at them pityingly. "Because you were sick. Now you're tied together for the rest of your lives."

"Oh honey," Winifred said, reaching towards him. "I know why you didn't say anything but I wish you would've said something sooner."

"I didn't know how to."

"Soooo you're, what, together now?" Aubree asked, sharp blue eyes flicking between them.

"We're friends," Steve replied firmly. And it had been a long, uphill battle just to get to this point.

"Just friends," Bucky added.

"That's a shame," Tabby teased, "you two have great chemistry."

Bucky rolled his eyes and turned to Steve apologetically. "I told you," he mouthed.

"Tabitha this is hardly the time," Winifred said sharply.

"Sorry baby bro," Tabby drawled, clearly unapologetic. She turned to her son, bouncing him once more to his delight.

"No chance that you two will end up dating then?" Aubree asked, picking up her tablet again. She tapped at the screen.

"No, none," Bucky said, laughing uncomfortably. "I mean, Steve's a great guy and all but we aren't like that."

Steve winced and tried to hide it. It wasn't a surprise. Bucky had never shown any interest in him before now. And Steve –Steve hadn't been aware that he was looking to find some proof. Proof when he knew there was none. Bucky had a big future ahead of him, one without Steve.

"Good thing too, since Steve's dating that other guy," Aubree added as an afterthought.

Steve saw the moment before him. Lie, and let the Barnes' family think that he was still in a relationship which would probably save Bucky a degree of hassle or he could be honest. Being honest, he didn't have to try and keep his story straight. And he'd spent so much time lying lately, about Bucky, about everything, that he really didn't want to lie. He glanced at Bucky, at the way the other man's posture was relaxed and casual, how he seemed to say that it was entirely up to Steve and whatever Steve said he would support.

"I'm not, actually. Clint and I are better off friends these days, since he found his soul-bond." Steve mentally winced at that –way to sound like some lame idiot, whose future was blockaded by happy soul-bound couples.

Steve could see no one really knew how to take his comment. Steve glanced at Bucky uncomfortably and was surprised to see how relaxed his friend was. There was something to be said for clearing the air.

"Well, we're happy to have you over Steve," Winifred said, smiling warmly. "I hope you don't mind spinach casserole."

"Not at all."

Bucky's family seemed to disperse from the living room after that. Aubree kept her seat, playing on her tablet. Gideon took over keeping Artemis entertained while Tabby moved into the kitchen. Steve spoke with Gideon about the art shop and his work at Stark Industries when Winifred summoned everyone into the dining room. Dinner was practically a feast –potato salad, pickled beets, dinner rolls and spinach casserole.

"Dinner looks amazing, Mrs. Barnes," Steve said, wedged between Bucky and Aubree. It felt like they were sitting on the wrong side of the table, the side specifically reserved for those who were single. Rebecca was without her husband tonight, but she was graciously sitting with Tabby and Gideon across the table.

"Hopefully it tastes half as good," George chuckled.

Winifred rolled her eyes. "I swear, one wrong meal and it's the only thing anyone ever wants to talk about."

"It was Thanksgiving," Rebecca pointed out. "And we had to wait an hour to get an order of KFC, mom. It's hard to forget."

"Hardly my fault that the oven quit working," Winifred replied primly.

"You mean that it got burned to a crisp," Tabby pitched in. "No, not your fault. Not at all."

"Or that time when you made our oatmeal into sludge," Bucky said, stabbing at a piece of potato. "I still don't know how you did that."

Winifred sighed heavily. "I took cooking courses, I can cook now, we don't need to keep reliving the past, children."

"Easy for you to say," Rebecca teased. "We still have nightmares from those days."

"When we were kids, Dad used to do all the cooking," Bucky explained. "But then he got a promotion and Mom thought it couldn't be too hard to do breakfast and dinners but she wasn't exactly experienced." He chuckled. "I think she took lessons when we were, I don't know, I might've been fourteen?"

"I was sixteen, so that seems about right," Tabby agreed.

"It tastes wonderful dear," George said. "Thank you for a lovely meal."

The other Barnes' were quick to agree, with the exception of Artemis who had decided he was _not_ going to eat spinach casserole no matter what his parents did. It didn't take long before his bib and highchair were splattered with food and then he started crying because he was hungry.

"Where is Daniel tonight?" Winifred asked, getting up to help out with the toddler.

"He had a bunch of papers to grade," Rebecca replied with a soft sigh. "His students are expecting them back tomorrow and he didn't really want to deal with them if he didn't keep his word."

"Like anyone would care," Aubree laughed. "Mr. Proctor is everyone's favorite."

Within minutes, Artemis' shrieks stopped as Winifred took over feeding him. She made dramatic airplane noises and the toddler seemed enraptured by it. Tabby sat back down at her seat with a relieved sigh.

"Thanks Mom."

"You'd think we'd never tried to airplane his food for him," Gideon said, sitting beside his wife. "I swear he just likes it when somebody else feeds him."

By the time dinner was over, there had been three thinly veiled comments about Steve and Bucky's relationship having the "potential" to grow into something amazing –all courtesy of Tabby. Winifred grilled Bucky on his dating life and Steve was apparently as surprised as the rest of the Barnes' to hear that Bucky was single and not looking for a date. A fact that his family seemed surprisingly relieved to hear, which only made Steve more uncomfortable. If Bucky wasn't looking for a date, to move on, then where was Steve going to fit in? Not to mention that at his response, Winifred and Tabby both grinned at Steve like they were promising he was next on Bucky's list.

While they were packing up leftovers and hauling dishes to the kitchen, Steve escaped into the nearest bathroom. Bucky had been right on just how uncomfortable this dinner was going to be. Steve washed his hands and took a deep breath before he rejoined the party. At some point, Bucky had been corralled in the kitchen by his sisters. Steve was about to go and rescue him when he Winifred approached.

She smiled gently. "You've done so much for my son."

"I just did the right thing, what anyone would have done."

Winifred's smile turned knowing. "Not anyone. I can think of more than a few people who would've been too scared to bind themselves with a stranger. You're a very brave man, Steve."

Steve fought off a blush. "So is your son," he blurted out.

Winifred turned to look in the kitchen, where Bucky's sisters were obviously teasing him. Bucky's face was bright red and he kept trying to escape but they had all the exits blocked. "There's different kinds of bravery in this world –the kind where you go to war, where you fight battles you know you probably won't survive and there's the kind where you put your heart on your sleeve for the entire world to see. Bucky has the first kind, but not the second. He's very guarded about his feelings. And you Steve, I wouldn't be surprised if you have both, but I know for one you get to carry your heart for everyone to see."

Steve frowned. "I haven't told anyone about Bucky and I being bonded."

"I don't know much about unreciprocated bonds," Winifred said slowly. "But I can imagine some of what it must be like –and there are things you can't hide. I'm sure your friends all know you're bonded to someone."

Of course they did. There'd been no way he could hide it from them, not that he'd ever wanted to with the exception of Peggy. "They do."

"You tied yourself to my son for the rest of your lives. I want to see the both of you happy." She hugged Steve lightly. "You both deserve it, whatever shape it takes." And then she pulled back and waded into the kitchen to free Bucky.

Which meant Steve was free for the sisters' to interrogate next. But between Winifred's watchful eye and Bucky doing his best to keep close to Steve, the three Barnes' sisters couldn't ambush him all at once. Aubree distracted Winifred and Rebecca started questioning Bucky which left Steve on his own with Tabby.

"I always thought there was something between you two," she said, looming beside him. "I just didn't think it was a soul-bond. I didn't see that coming."

"We're just friends," Steve said warily.

"And like a year ago, I think you probably hated each other," Tabby pointed out. "Maybe a year from now you'll be getting married."

Steve grimaced. "I don't think that's going to happen," he said.

"Why? You like men and I know Bucky does too so that's not an issue. He's crazy about you Steve. He actually brought you here to tell us about this."

"I volunteered; I didn't want him to feel alone."

Tabby shook her head, her ponytail bouncing. "Steve. He still brought you with him. For the last year, all he's ever done is brought over a string of girls and guys, like he was looking for our approval of them. For someone to say that he'd found his soulmate. And then he brings you over –for the first time, not looking for approval. If I went over to him and said I hated your guts, you know what he'd do?"

Steve shook his head slowly.

"He'd tell me that it was my problem and I could leave you the fuck alone." Tabby grinned, like this was somehow the best news she'd heard all night. "He cares more about you than about our approval. So way to go Romeo." She bumped their shoulders together. "If there aren't wedding bells by next year, I'll eat a sock. And if he asks, you can tell him I told you about the time he ran into a glass door and broke it." With that, she walked away.

"She didn't give you a hard time did she?" Bucky asked, holding a glass of water towards him.

"No," Steve said, taking the glass. "Thanks."

Bucky shrugged. "You sure she didn't?"

Steve chuckled. "She just wanted to tell me about… that time you broke a glass door?"

Bucky groaned. "She did not!"

"You really broke a glass door?"

"I was eight!"

Steve laughed. "That doesn't sound like an excuse."

"No one really knows how I broke it either," Bucky said, flushed. "I just… slammed into it and it shattered. Now we don't use sliding doors anymore."

Steve had to laugh. He took a refreshing drink of the water and watched as Tabby took over for Aubree, and Aubree made a beeline for Bucky. She grabbed his sleeve and dragged him aside, chattering eagerly about something as Rebecca took Bucky's vacated place.

"You know, we all had a hard time figuring out why his recovery took a dive after you saved him," Rebecca said. "It was like he'd generally been doing okay, but then he just kept crashing and falling apart."

"Because of the soul-bond," Steve replied, wary. "He was afraid I was in his head too."

"He told you?" Rebecca asked, surprised.

"We talked about it."

"He never talks about that."

"We've started being honest with each other –really cleared up some misinformation."

"Then I'm glad he has you as a friend," Rebecca said. "Because he doesn't talk about that. Ever. I mean, not that I blame him but I worry about him."

Steve didn't think Bucky would have ever talked about his experiences except for the fact that Steve shared his nightmares. Steve already knew.

"I really thought we were going to lose him again," Rebecca added softly. "After you saved him, it was the only thing that made sense, was for you to have bonded him and him to be worrying about so much else…"

"He's doing well now," Steve said.

"Well I'm sorry I took it out on you last time. I never thought he'd tell us anything."

"You were just looking after your brother," Steve said lightly.

Rebecca smiled at him. "You're right. And you'd better remember that because if you hurt him, I'll show up on your doorstep and make you regret it."

"We aren't dating!" Steve hissed, exasperated.

"Yet," Rebecca corrected. "You aren't dating yet. Soul-bonds are for life. It'll happen." She winked and left to go and relieve Aubree.

Steve finished off his glass of water. Just because he and Bucky were soul-bound, meant nothing. Bucky didn't feel the same. Steve didn't even want more from Bucky –did he? They were friends. They were light years from where they had been six months ago, six years ago. Bucky was a good friend. And there were plenty of unreciprocated soul-bonds out there who never got to experience a reciprocated bond. Not everyone was as lucky –or as clueless –as Clint and Phil. Steve was well aware of that fact. And he wasn't going to sit around expecting more from Bucky when the other man didn't owe him anything. Even if Bucky felt like he owed Steve something, Steve would punch him in the face if he suggested being in a relationship to that end.

"You look like you're thinking about hitting something _really_ hard," Aubree said. "Is it Becca? She has that effect on people."

Steve released the breath he'd been holding. "No."

"Too bad. Watching people fight is funny."

Steve glanced at Aubree. "I don't think your family would find it funny."

"Probably not, but I would. It would be great, second best family dinner hands down after that one time Rebecca punched her ex-boyfriend in the face and broke his nose when she caught him sexting somebody else."

Steve chuckled nervously. "I don't think I want to try."

"Shame," Aubree sighed. "It would've been great." She stared at Steve. "So do you love Bucky too?"

"Bucky doesn't love me," Steve said reflexively. He would know if Bucky did. Wouldn't he?

Aubree blinked. "Okay. So he doesn't. But do you love him?"

"We're friends –he's –he's a good friend of mine," Steve said, uncomfortable. Why was he talking about this with a sixteen year old? "I'm not in love with him."

He couldn't be in love with Bucky. Bucky was handsome and charming, he was a good friend, he was there when Steve needed him and he understood when Steve needed comfort and when he didn't. He hadn't pressed talking about what had happened with Dr. Erskine, he'd just said that he understood and then he'd proceeded to be there. He made Steve breakfast. Steve turned to look at Bucky who was standing there with wide eyes, a sheepish smile tacked on his face.

Oh.

Steve looked at Aubree, deeply uncomfortable. Aubree was watching her brother too, apologetically.

Oh no.

"Well." Bucky stopped before them. "I did ask you guys not to interfere but I know that's impossible for you guys." He sighed. "Thanks for trying."

"Bucky I'm sorry," Aubree said quietly. She glanced between him and Steve once more before hurrying away.

The living room was surprisingly vacant. Steve glanced towards the kitchen, but no one was even huddling at the window over the counter. It was frighteningly empty and quiet.

Bucky inhaled deeply, avoiding Steve's eyes. "You ready to head home? I can call a taxi."

"Sure," Steve said faintly. "If that's what you want."

What was he supposed to do? Take it back? It was the truth, wasn't it? He wasn't in love with Bucky.

"I think it's-it's probably for the best." Bucky turned to the front door, pulling out his phone.

Suddenly, there was a wholly different chasm dividing them and Steve didn't know how to bridge this one. He could feel Bucky's mortification flare out and Steve closed his eyes, breathed, and concentrated on putting the Great Wall of China between their emotions. Steve was still at a loss for words when the cab pulled up. What was he supposed to say?

"I'm sorry," he mumbled as he stepped out the doorway.

Bucky closed the door behind him.

It felt very final.


	15. But It Feels Wrong

Sam sat down across from Steve. "Sorry I'm late," he said. "There was an accident on Fifth."

"Again?"

Sam nodded. "So what's up?"

Steve grimaced and stared at the table. Grudgingly, he explained how Friday had gone over. He'd spent the weekend working on art and determinedly _not_ thinking about Bucky or what had happened. But Sam had sent a few inquisitive texts and Steve couldn't avoid him forever. Or for long, because Sam probably already knew something had gone wrong. And it wasn't a conversation Steve wanted to have over texting, so here they were, in a little coffee shop to talk about the disaster that was Friday evening at the Barnes'.

"Please tell me you aren't avoiding him," Sam said pleadingly, hands wrapped around his coffee mug.

Steve avoided his gaze. "I'm not!"

Sam sighed heavily. "Steve. _Steve._ This isn't something that avoidance will solve."

"What am I supposed to do?" Steve demanded. "I didn't –I didn't ask for this!"

"I don't think he did either. And I really think you need to sit down and talk with him. Just as friends. You don't even need to talk about that."

"I thought he hated me!"

"Steve, you're smarter than that." Sam frowned at him. "You've been hanging out regularly from the sounds of it for a long time. You let me meet him –and he gave you the go ahead to tell Peggy and Riley. You know he didn't hate you."

As true as that was, Steve had no idea when or why Bucky had fallen in love with him. He couldn't think of a single interaction where Bucky seemed… different.

"I don't –I don't know if I'm ready to talk to him yet."

"That's fine too. Just try and remember that you want to be friends with him, Steve. And it's not like he voluntarily told you about his feelings either."

Steve and Bucky had spent a long time working to be able to call each other friends. Steve didn't want to let that go. But he also didn't want to be anywhere within ten feet of Bucky right now, which, he also felt guilty over. Bucky _was_ his friend. It was just –things between them were so complicated. Their friendship wasn't as simplistic as being a friendship. If it were, Steve knew he would have damned the awkwardness and gone anyways. But this? This was practically out of his hands. And how was Bucky coping with all of this?

"I know. I just –what am I supposed to do Sam?"

"Be his friend, if that's what he wants. Let him apologize for his family, maybe. Thank him for inviting you into his life, as poorly as that went. He tried."

"Yeah," Steve sighed.

"The avoidance is working for now Steve, but it won't work forever and it won't do you any favors. I don't want to see you regret this in a few months."

Steve nodded slowly. "You're right Sam."

Sam blew out a breath. "Then why don't I feel more relieved?" Steve shrugged cluelessly; Sam's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Whatever you're about to do, just remember my advice okay?" He drained the rest of his coffee and got to his feet.

"I get it, I get it," Steve said, smiling. "I'll text him later today. It'll be fine."

* * *

But before Steve did any of that, he had an appointment with Tony Stark. They'd gotten approval much faster than they'd anticipated and some government funding thrown their way to speed through the process. Steve went to Stark Industries, the towering skyscraper that he called work, for his first dosage.

"Steve!" Tony called, grinning at him. "I'm glad you made it."

"Wouldn't miss this for the world," Steve answered honestly. Especially these days.

One of Stark Industries lawyers went over the paperwork and waivers while a physician explained all of the risks and rewards –of which there were many. Steve brought up the medication he was currently taking and the physician stated that the drugs wouldn't be interacting with each other as his current meds were targeting his body to improve and alieve symptoms while the new medication would simply let him stop feeling Bucky's emotions. It felt like he ended up signing his life away with how many waivers he was signing off on in order to be part of the drug trial. There were others they'd contacted who were in the same position as Steve who would join the trial too. For now, as part of the waiver, Steve had to fill out all of his medical history which probably took an hour on its own.

The physician slid over a bottle of pink pills. "Take one when you first wake up and call us if you experience anything out of the ordinary."

Steve nodded. "Thank you." He eyed the pink pills curiously.

"The color was my idea," Tony said proudly.

Steve shook his head. "Did you ever decide on a name?"

"Of course!" Tony said. "We call it –well, I call it, who cares what complex chemical name it _really_ has –it's Cupid's Shield!"

Steve sighed internally. Now all he could see was him dressed up in some promiscuous Cupid's costume firing arrows at Bucky who was dressed like a giant shield. He was going to have nightmares about that, he could tell.

"Has anyone else called it that?"

"Oh yeah, loads. It's way easier than calling it –" and Tony rambled off a long string of what had to be part of a chemical formula but Steve had no idea what it meant. "Or calling it –" and this time Tony rattled off some complicated but significantly shorter name that Steve had no idea how to pronounce.

"But Cupid's Shield, really?"

"Hey, my name, my branding," Tony said airily. "Now go enjoy your new life. Make sure to tell me how it is too."

Steve shook his head as he got to his feet. Tony handed him a paper cup of water and Steve threw back one of the pink pills and washed it down with some water.

* * *

The drug didn't start working right away. But Steve became aware that it had started by the time he made it home for dinner. He was used to having to maintain a barrier between him and Bucky –but unconsciously maintaining it was different. It slipped frequently and whenever it did, there was always a flash of Bucky's emotions but when it slipped, there was nothing. In fact, the nothingness that was there was so overwhelming Steve had to sit down. He couldn't remember what it was like to have his feelings so wholly his own. It had been years since his mind had been this empty, since it had been quiet and still with just his thoughts and feelings. His soul –the piece that was attached to Bucky, felt like it was just sleeping, waiting at the door for its other half to join it, but there was peace to it.

Steve wiped at his wet cheeks. He hadn't even realized he'd been crying.

From Bucky: I'm really sorry about how things at my parent's place happened. I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable.

To Bucky: It's okay. You did say they were pushy and we would get embarrassed.

From Bucky: Yeah, well it happened, didn't it? My sisters offer their sincere apologies for making you uncomfortable.

Steve shifted awkwardly. What was he supposed to say to that? He hadn't even been expecting to hear from Bucky and he'd been working on composing a text when Bucky's message came in. He didn't know what to say.

From Bucky: Thanks for coming with me. I really appreciated you having my back, even if my sisters got carried away.

To Bucky: They were just trying to look out for you. I get it.

Steve had no idea what that was like. Not the faintest idea.

From Bucky: I mean, in their defense, they just wanted to see me happy. And they thought if we were soul-bonded –I mean, it's not like they knew about our whole ugly past –they just wanted me happy. They thought since we showed up together, since we got along, that they could. Help.

To Bucky: You're really mad at them aren't you?

From Bucky: There aren't words, Steve. Yes. They didn't even talk to me about it first.

To Bucky: I think Rebecca was just trying to test me. Make sure I was worthy to be involved.

And it wasn't like Rebecca had ever liked him. In fact, she'd made it fairly clear that she would be out for blood if Steve did anything wrong.

From Bucky: I don't know if I want to know what they even said.

To Bucky: Tabby told me childhood stories and said she thought there'd been something between us but it being a soul-bond was surprising. Rebecca warned me off and you heard what Aubree had to say.

From Bucky: I'm sorry.

To Bucky: I don't blame you.

From Bucky: Are you sure? Because it seems like you are.

Steve stared at the message in panic. It felt like he'd been punched in the gut, all the air escaping his lungs. He hadn't –he hadn't wanted Bucky to feel that way. But he had been avoiding him. He'd avoided him all weekend. Maybe Bucky should have checked in, it was Bucky who was embarrassed –but it wasn't just Bucky who had been embarrassed. Steve was embarrassed too –he shouldn't have been witness to that conversation. He knew how Bucky felt. Didn't he? Aubree had as good as said that Bucky was in love with Steve and Steve had seen the expression on Bucky's face when he'd overheard Steve saying he wasn't in love with him.

To Bucky: I thought you wanted space.

Steve couldn't imagine being in Bucky's shoes and wanting to have that contact just after his feelings had been laid bare by someone close to him. Space made sense. Space also conveniently allowed Steve to avoid Bucky, to avoid the situation entirely and it was a weak excuse.

From Bucky: I would've said something if I did.

To Bucky: I'm sorry.

From Bucky: Can we talk? I've missed having my Steve friend around.

To Bucky: Of course.

It was only a few seconds until Bucky was phoning and Steve took a deep breath before swiping to accept the call. He wasn't sure what to say. He wasn't even sure what to do anymore. And right now he was feeling like a pretty big asshole.

"Hey," Steve answered softly, turning the volume on his television down.

"I don't want things between us to change," Bucky said. "I'm –I'm happy with what we have Steve. And we've spent a long time to be able to say we're friends. I know; I know things might be different for you now, after the dinner, but for what it's worth, I want us to be friends."

Steve blinked in surprise, caught off guard by Bucky's blunt confession. He thought they would have spent half the conversation building up to a discussion like that.

"I want to be friends too," Steve replied honestly. He couldn't imagine not being friends with Bucky. He couldn't imagine what his life would be like if Bucky left again, if they went back to where they'd been six years ago. "And nothing's changed for me, after the dinner. You said, your family is pushy when it comes to soul-bond stuff."

Bucky scoffed. "Yeah but there's a difference even between pushy and what they did. I'm sorry they put you through that."

"I'm sorry they put _you_ through it," Steve said firmly.

Bucky sighed. "It's over now at least."

There was an ocean of things unsaid between them, things that Steve had no idea how to bridge or how to bring up. Did Bucky love him? He thought –he thought Bucky might, but it wasn't his place to ask or bring it up after how catastrophic Friday had been. They were Bucky's feelings and he was entitled to keep them to himself. It wasn't like Steve was going to unintentionally feel a rush of affection and suddenly understand. The realization rolled over Steve like a wave, nearly taking his breath away. What if his entire relationship with Bucky was built on the premise that Steve understood him so well because they were bonded? What if they weren't friends without the bond? And when Bucky learned the truth, would Bucky even want to be friends with Steve?

"I made it clear that we aren't…" Bucky trailed off. "We aren't like them. We've had a lot of stuff between us to get over. I told them how we met, what I said to you. I'd never told them that before –I don't think I ever told anyone."

"Why?"

"I was ashamed. I was mad as hell, Steve, but I was also ashamed. You saved my life. And as angry as I was… I shouldn't have said that to you. To anyone."

Steve glanced down at the sketch he was fleshing out, shadowing in some lines around the eyes. "I guess you wouldn't brag about that," Steve joked weakly. "I just kind of thought they'd know, with how much they were at the hospital."

"Nah," Bucky said. "I shut them out." He gave a quiet laugh. "They were pretty horrified when I told them what I'd said to you. I didn't really tell them anything else, just enough to let them know that we've only recently started getting along."

Steve made a noise to show he was still listening, working on the straight, broad nose. He didn't really know what to say.

"Steve," Bucky said, and the gentle sincerity in his voice drew Steve's attention immediately. "I really value our friendship and the time we spend together. I don't want –I don't want anything to come between us."

Steve didn't need his bond with Bucky to tell him anything, he realized as goosebumps crawled down his arms in déjà vu. He knew what Bucky was going to say. He didn't know if he wanted to hear it or not. He didn't know if he was ready.

"I mean –it's already out there, but it. But you deserve to hear it from me. Not –not second-hand guessing from what my sisters' believe." Bucky laughed nervously. "I, I don't know how to say this."

Steve glanced at his sketch, penciling in a few more lines around the face. "Take your time," he suggested.

"Steve I'm in love with you," Bucky said, barrelling right past Steve's words. "I've been in love with you for a while. And I'm not asking –you don't have to say anything, okay? We've just been clearing the air and I thought we should continue with that. I don't want to lose our friendship. I don't want anything between us to change. I'm so grateful for what we have. I'm not –this is the only time I'll ever say this."

Steve methodically erased a shaky line. Bucky was in love with him. _Bucky loved him._ He wasn't sure if anyone had ever been in love with him before –he didn't think so. Not romantically, at least. And when had Bucky's feelings changed so much?

"I just thought you should know," Bucky said softly, more subdued.

"Thank you for…"

Thank you for what, Steve? For his honesty? His feelings? Steve winced. He drew sketched a few more lines. He wasn't in love with Bucky. He couldn't return his feelings. Bucky already knew that and he still had the courage to say it. Maybe not to his face, but certainly more bravery to say it as opposed to send it over text. Steve could feel his face heat up. No one had been in love with him before.

"…that," Steve finished weakly.

Bucky made a complicated noise –halfway between an embarrassed groan and a frustrated sigh. "Yeah, it's. Yeah. How've you been feeling today?"

"Really good, actually," Steve said, penciling in the fine marks of stubble. "You?"

"Everything's been feeling more intense than usual," Bucky said thoughtfully. "I thought I should check in with you."

Of course, Steve would get to experience pleasant numbness but for the first time in six years Bucky was experiencing the full force of his emotions. Steve winced. He wasn't ready to tell Bucky yet. But Bucky probably hadn't been ready to tell Steve about his feelings either. This was one thing Steve wanted to keep to himself for a few days more. Just to have for himself. It was his first chance at not being tied to Bucky, not being driven and compelled and beaten to death by Bucky's emotions and nightmares.

"I've been trying this new meditation technique," Steve found himself saying, as he started to draw the eyes. "Trying to stay out of your head more often, it's been working." In a few days, just a few days, he would tell Bucky the truth. "I don't know how it'll be tonight." It wasn't exactly a lie.

Steve had been giving his all to the bond –he'd had no choice but to feel what Bucky felt. And he hadn't asked to feel all of that. He'd just wanted to save a man's life. It wasn't fair on either of them. He knew Bucky wouldn't be mad, Bucky would probably be happy to hear about the drug, but Steve wanted to keep it to himself. Just for now.

"Well, I hope it works. You don't need my nightmares."

"Yeah, thanks," Steve said. "Hey, you wanna meet for coffee tomorrow?"

"Sure. Just text me when and where and I'll be there."

"Alright, I'll see you then. I'll text you later."

"Cool. See you." Bucky hung up.

Steve set his phone aside, turning his attention back to the sketch. The eyes weren't that narrow, they looked too hard. He erased several of the lines, softening the eyes, widening them just a fraction. He shaded in the narrow, hooded brow and started working on sketching the tousled wavy hair. After that, it was the delicate curve of kissable lips. Steve pulled back, staring at his finished drawing with a sense of growing shock.

It was Bucky. Bucky smiling kindly, the way he always did at Steve. It was the gentle gaze, eyes crinkling up with the start of laugh lines like when he was mocking Steve about pancakes. This wasn't a sketch of Bucky; this was a portrait painted from memory, of a man who was in love with Steve. And Steve had painstakingly recreated every detail from memory, barely paying attention to what he was drawing. But now that he was looking at it, it was all he could see. Bucky was in love with Steve. When hadn't Bucky been in love with Steve? Steve wasn't sure he knew anymore.

The detail he'd been able to put in so carefully, so dedicatedly, when he hadn't meant to spoke volumes to Steve too. It wasn't like he could just ignore it. Steve picked his sketch book up. Fear curled in his gut like a viper, ready to compel Steve to empty his stomach if he didn't realize the truth of it. And then it was like having a bucket of sorrow wash over him.

He was in love with a man he didn't want to love.

There was no bond between them, these were Steve's emotions only, and ones he'd been blind to because of the bond. Or had the bond caused them in the first place? And now that he was free of the bond, he was able to realize what had been compelling him to Bucky in the first place. Maybe Bucky's family was right, maybe there was something _fateful_ about their bond. Maybe the only thing separating Steve from all those other unreciprocated bonders was the fact that he had his emotions all to himself.

Suddenly, he desperately wanted the bond back. He wanted to forget this moment. He couldn't love Bucky. He just couldn't. Steve ripped the paper from the rings, scrunching it up and tearing it to pieces. He didn't love Bucky. He didn't. Fate could compel him all it wanted, but he would never act on those feelings. With luck, they would go away, he could forget them, let them go. He didn't need Bucky in his life. He didn't _want_ Bucky in his life. Not if this was the consequence.

What about free will? What about his freedom to choose who he wanted to be with? He'd _chosen_ to save Bucky. He hadn't chosen to love him. He couldn't love him. Bucky had been –Bucky had been horrible, but he'd changed. Bucky had been clumsily awkward and hurtful, but he'd made amends. Bucky had been a good friend. But Steve didn't want more. Steve wanted to make his own choice. And he was not going to choose Bucky. He'd chosen him once, he'd been rejected and that he could handle. He was not going to choose Bucky again. Sure, Bucky was in love with him, or was that just what he thought?

What if this was all part of the bond, compelling them together? For the first time, Steve thought he could understand why so many who had been rejected chose to end their life. If all of this was preordained, decided the moment Steve gave half his soul to Bucky, then what if everything he'd ever felt was as manufactured as the steel prosthetic Bucky wore? Steve would not be part of a rigged system, where the chips were stacked on them ending up together, because there was no other choice. Soul-bonds were meant to be. There was no ending the bond, except through death. And if that was true, then what of his parent's bond? What about anyone's bond? They couldn't all be manufactured, taking people's free will and choice away.

There was a small voice in the back of his mind that brought up a different point. What if it was true love? What did the bond _really_ have to do with his and Bucky's relationship? Everything. He and Bucky were just two strangers passing without it. He and Bucky would have never met otherwise. What if he had no choice but to love Bucky because of the bond? But he was taking the meds; shouldn't that have cancelled out the effect? He was still in love with Bucky. It hadn't gone away. But neither had his bond. Cupid's Shield couldn't take the bond away, and without that, maybe Steve was still compelled to love Bucky. Did Bucky have a choice in who he loved or had Steve stolen that from him too?

* * *

 _Kitt whoever you are, I hope you're still reading this. Your comment was really beautiful and it's since disappeared into the ether so I never got to read the end of it._

 _For everyone who's stuck with me so far, thank you. I really missed your input last chapter, but I trust you're still reading this and -hopefully -enjoying it._

 _Good news is that I've finshed this fic! Extra good news for you guys here is that I can't queue chapters the way I can on Archive of Our Own, so I'm going to post the last couple of chapters here but I won't be doing that on AO3 because then I don't get comments per chapter. (I have a lot more readers there -here I might get 100 views or less per chapter, but I get about 800 on AO3)_


	16. The Truth Can't Hurt Us Now

Steve did not go for coffee with Bucky. In fact, he'd stopped talking to him entirely, as though denying his existence would free Steve of his feelings. Steve spent more time at time at work or sitting at home drawing. Somehow, no matter what he tried to draw, he always ended up at Bucky. Which wasn't helping. So he was back at Stark Industries, working on designs and doing what he could to not think of the looming existential crisis over free will. He'd even blown Sam off twice this week already. He just needed to accept the facts and move on, but his brain was still stuck. He was still stuck. He refused to accept the fact that it was all preordained, that fate had somehow forced him into this exact situation. He had free will. Everyone alive had free will and it was Steve's choices that had brought him this far. He couldn't give that up. He wouldn't.

But he was scared out of his mind. What if the bond had created everything between him and Bucky? What was the point of a device like that? Was it his punishment, his consequence for bonding Bucky without permission? He was going to be compelled to love Bucky forever, no matter what? He couldn't live like that. He would rather live some half-life, where he suffered Bucky's every emotion but he lived and married someone else. It wasn't like Bucky was his only choice; it wasn't like no one else would ever date Steve. It would be harder to find someone. And he had time anyways. He wasn't exactly looking for a relationship, or looking for someone to replace Bucky with. Not yet.

He didn't know how he felt. But he was scared. If everything between him and Bucky was based on a lie, based on the bond's connection, then everything between them was built on a lie. Because the bond had forced their feelings, had forced their friendship, their forgiveness. Steve didn't know what he would do if that was true. He didn't know what Bucky would do. What was the point of a soul-bond? They weren't soulmates. Why was there even a distinction? If it was a lie, it was a convincing sham to the population to make them think their choices mattered.

"Steve, you alright?" Bruce asked in concern.

Steve jerked out of his thoughts with a start. The paper in front of him was riddled with several pencil holes from how hard he'd been pushing against the paper. It must have been fairly late for Bruce to be the only one in the lab; he must have missed Pepper bodily dragging Tony from the lab and he was sorry to have missed it.

"Just distracted," Steve sighed. He was going to have to retrace the whole thing onto a different sheet.

"Heavy thoughts?" Bruce asked knowingly, watching Steve closely. "Have you been feeling more irritable lately since you started the trial?"

That's right; Bruce had been helping Tony work on them. Steve shook his head. "No it's not that. I've just been thinking more clearly since I stopped feeling my soul-bond. Been thinking about a lot of things."

"What kind of things?"

It was all the invitation Steve needed. He couldn't talk to Sam or Peggy about this; he was scared of what they would say. He was scared about whether his friendship could survive that scrutiny. And he didn't want to crush their world views. Especially not Peggy's, not when she was engaged and likely planning her wedding, he didn't want to ruin that for her. But Bruce was a quiet, reserved guy and Steve liked his opinion. And while Steve wasn't ready to talk to his closest friends, he was desperate to talk to someone about it.

"I'm in love with my soul-bond," Steve blurted. "I never realized it until yesterday, when I couldn't feel his emotions. I bonded him six years ago, without his permission, to save his life. And now I can't help but wonder if I'm in love with him because of that."

Bruce blinked and adjusted his glasses. "In my opinion… I find that soul-bonding is surrendering your free will, surrendering your feelings to another person. You give part of your soul to someone else. Your soul, slowly, becomes more like them. It's a natural consequence."

"What if it's this way for everyone who's bonded?"

"Isn't it already? There would be outrage if people thought about it like you do. It's common knowledge that the dual connection heights emotions; it's not like you only experience one emotion in a bond, you feel both."

"What about my free will?" Steve asked, horrified.

"You gave that up in order to save your bonded, didn't you?"

"I –I didn't want this! I didn't mean for this to be the result."

He was nineteen when he'd made his choice. A choice that would affect the rest of his life. He didn't choose to be in love with Bucky for the rest of his life. He didn't want to be compelled to feel this way. But there was nothing he could do about it. Bruce's words made a cold and logical sense that was devastating. Steve had tied a piece of himself to Bucky and it would make more sense if that part of him started to feel more like Bucky and less like Steve. It made sense that he had surrendered his control of his emotions and feelings to Bucky the moment he had bound them together. He had given up a lot of things without fully understanding the consequences. The right to his feelings belonging to _him_ was at the top of that list.

"Steve," Bruce said wryly. "What did you think it meant to give half your soul to another person?"

"I thought –I thought it meant having an equal, someone who would understand me, who I would understand. I thought it was sharing emotions and feelings. I thought it was love." Real love, the love of choice, not the compelled love of a broken soul-bond.

"Why is it different just because it's part of the bond?"

"You have to choose to love someone," Steve said quietly. "Love is all about choice."

"It's about sacrifice," Bruce countered.

"It's both," Steve conceded. "But I have to choose to love someone before I accept that I do. And I can't accept how I feel without that."

"Love isn't a choice. It's a feeling, an emotion. You're sad right now, but if you don't accept that, does that mean you aren't sad?" Bruce asked.

"Love is an emotion, a feeling," Steve agreed, "but if I don't accept it, then it isn't there. I won't act on it. Love is an action; it's a shared union with someone else. Being sad, that's just an emotion. It isn't an action."

If Steve didn't accept that he was in love, then it would be like he had never realized how he felt. Because he would never act on it. He might feel the affection of it, but eventually Bucky would move on or Steve would and his feelings would change. If Steve was sad, whether or not he did anything, he would still be sad. But acting on it wouldn't change that he was sad, if he was sad, he was going to be sad no matter what he did.

"I'd never thought about it like that," Bruce pondered. "Interesting."

"Is that why you've never married or bonded someone?" Steve asked, suddenly desperate to escape the crushing silence that was inside his head. He was on the run from his own thoughts, and he would never be able to escape them.

"I've never wanted to give anyone that kind of control over me," Bruce said carefully. "And I've never really been the type for marriage."

Steve nodded. "I always thought soul-bonds were, well, amazing. My parents were soul-bounded."

Bruce smiled tightly. "So were mine. At some point, they genuinely loved each other. I don't know if that came before or after the beatings, but I like to hope it was before."

Steve stared in horror. "What?"

"It's one of those rare things you don't hear about, like unreciprocated soul-bonds. I don't know if my parents just grew to be incompatible, if that frayed and wore at their bond, if that gave my dad the power to be abusive. I only know that I won't ever be part of a soul-bond."

"Incompatible?" Steve repeated in disbelief.

Bruce's smile vanished. "It was the only explanation the doctors could give me, on why my father was able to do what he did. Like the part of his soul attached to my mother became a looking glass full of his own self-loathing."

"Bruce, that's awful."

Bruce shrugged in a careful, measured way that suggested he'd talked about this a few too many times and was accustomed to how people reacted. Steve could recognize it from when people apologized to him for being an orphan. "It was a long time ago," he said.

* * *

Sam pounded on Steve's door. "Steve, I know you're in there!"

Steve considered turning off his light but that would be too obvious especially considering Sam had to know he was here. He wasn't sure how. He didn't usually advertise his whereabouts to people. He'd managed to go a whole week and a half avoiding Sam –Peggy was easier to dodge because she was busy at work and with her fiancé.

"Steven Grant Rogers!" Sam shouted, banging on the door. "You cannot ignore me forever!"

A fact that Steve was already well aware of, considering he had about fifty messages from Sam and half a dozen voicemails. Not to mention the fact that Sam was knocking on his front door with the intent to knock it off its hinges. Steve tugged at his shirt awkwardly –it had a couple of stains on it and he was sure it was starting to smell after wearing it for the weekend. He got to his feet and shuffled over to the door. What was he going to say? He had no idea what he was going to say. He didn't have a clue.

He unlocked the door and reluctantly opened it. Sam took one look at him and deflated. The worst of the fight went out of his body but Steve knew it wasn't over yet. He didn't look half as bad as Sam made it seem –sure, he'd gone the weekend without showering but he was allowed to do that. And maybe he hadn't washed his dishes in a couple of days, but that wasn't going to kill anybody.

"Go take a shower, I'll make us a cup of coffee and then we are going to sit down and talk like adults."

There was no arguing with him when he got all militant. Steve flipped him off a mock salute to show that he wasn't impressed with Sam's attitude, but he trudged to his bathroom obediently. No doubt by the time he was done showering, Sam would have washed all the dishes, started the coffee pot and be in the middle of cooking something. Sam liked taking care of people –whether they wanted it or not. As Steve started the shower, he grudgingly admitted it might have been a day or two more than the weekend he'd gone without showering. He hated it when Sam did his dishes –not because Sam did them wrong, but because Steve was fully capable of handling them on his own. He was a single guy, and, strictly speaking he didn't need to wash his dishes every day.

By the time he'd finished showering; his thoughts had turned back towards the soul-bond matter. He had a whole message thread from Bucky that he hadn't been able to look at. He figured a couple of his voicemails might have been from him too but he couldn't bear to listen to them. Bucky didn't know that everything between them was a lie and Steve wasn't looking forward to bringing that topic up. It didn't need to be addressed anyways. They could just part like this and it would be better for everyone. Bucky wouldn't have to know.

Steve threw on some clean clothes before he dared entering the kitchen. The dishes were all clean and Sam was baking his mother's macaroni and cheese recipe. It was the king of all comfort foods. And Sam didn't bake it unless he was really worried. That was when Steve's guilt kicked in. He could remember Sam baking that particular recipe maybe four times since they'd known each other.

"You didn't have to wash my wishes," Steve pointed out. "I could've done them."

"You know me, it was habit," Sam said, smiling at him. "Nice to see you all cleaned up."

Steve rolled his eyes. "I'm sure."

Sam laughed at him and they made light, easy conversation as the macaroni and cheese baked. Steve knew that whatever Sam had to say wasn't going to be brought up until Steve was relaxed and gorged to death on his mother's recipe. That was Sam's way. And it was easy to get caught up in the light, easy conversation. Steve couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed in the last week and Sam had him laughing in a matter of minutes. Steve couldn't be mad that it was a distraction. Sam pulled out the mac and cheese and it was as delicious as Steve remembered it being.

And Sam, being Sam, waited until Steve was halfway through his plate and had his mouth full. "Peggy tells me you've been avoiding Bucky too."

Steve almost choked. "How would she know?" he asked it as carefully as he could manage. He wasn't aware Peggy had made nice with Bucky since he'd told her everything.

"She talked to Clint," Sam said, watching Steve. "Who talked to Bucky, who, according to Peggy, looks like he hasn't slept in a week."

Steve set his fork down. "We talked. Last week. I haven't since then."

"Steve, what's going on? This isn't you."

"I don't want to talk about it," Steve said, looking at him pleadingly. "Can we just finish dinner?"

"I think talking about it will you do you some good," Sam said concernedly.

Steve sighed. "Please, Sam. I'm not going to talk about it."

They finished dinner in silence. They exchanged a terse goodbye and then Sam left. Steve didn't know what to make of it, as the silence of his house swallowed him up greedily. Steve sat down at his table and started trying to sketch again, anything that wasn't Bucky Barnes. He just wanted to stop thinking for a little bit. He didn't want to deal with the conundrum that was his headspace, constantly trying to decide what his next step was. And in the meantime, his heart ached. He missed his friends. He missed Bucky. And he had no idea what to do about any of it.

The sudden knock on his door an hour after Sam left startled him. It was probably Peggy, or Riley, here to give it their best shot at getting Steve to talk about his problems and he was not having it. He stomped over to the door and wrenched it open irritably only to stop short. Standing on his front doorstep was Clint.

"Clint?" Steve asked incredulously.

"Hey man," Clint said, friendly. "Haven't talked to you in ages. How've you been?"

"Is everything okay?"

"Wha –oh yeah, it's fine. I just felt like talking y'know."

No, he didn't know. While Clint was a spontaneous guy and he never had a plan for anything, he also had never shown up unannounced at Steve's door wanting to talk. Let alone, Clint wanting to make small talk.

"Did you want to come in?" Steve asked, resigned. If this was part of Sam's machinations he would concede losing. He thought it was more likely that Clint had just randomly shown up than that Sam had been in deliberate contact with him.

"Yeah! That'd be great. It's starting to get chilly."

Steve stepped aside and Clint walked in, rubbing his hands together to get warm. Steve wasn't sure if it was an act or the best acting skills he'd seen any of his friends manage. He covered up his sketch book, feeling unusually self-conscious of the figures he'd drawn. At least none of these ones resembled Bucky. Steve frowned as he took a seat, inviting Clint to take the armchair. Bucky wasn't the type of person to send someone else on his behalf. Why was Clint here?

"How're things with Phil?"

"Great. We're taking things slow, working on our communication." Clint smiled at Steve as he sat down in the armchair.

"That's good."

"How've you been?"

"Fine," Steve replied warily. "Hanging out at home, busy at the office. Started taking that new medication –no side effects," he managed a sincere smile at that.

Clint smiled. "Steve. How are you really?"

"Fine," he said, just a touch defensively. "Why?"

"Because you haven't talked to anyone in a week."

"I talk to people at work," Steve fired back. "And how is it any of your business if I want to take some time off for myself?"

"Whoa there, Steve, overly defensive much?"

Steve glared at him. "I'm fine."

"Steve. Tell me what's going on. I'm worried about you; Sam and Peggy are worried about you. And Bucky –Bucky told me what happened. Talk to me."

Steve didn't want to talk about it.

"You talk to me about it, you don't have to deal with Sam or Peggy showing up together to sit you down and guilt you into talking about it," Clint said. "That's what they have planned next. Your friends are worried about you."

Steve scowled. "And if I tell you, you'll tell them."

Clint flipped him off. "You know me better than that. And you should trust your friends better –they don't care who you talk to so long as you talk to somebody Steve."

"You wanna know the truth that badly?!"

"Yes! We're worried about you!"

"I'm in love with Bucky!" Steve burst out. He didn't mean to start the story there, but that was what came out. "I'm in love with him and I shouldn't be. I can't love him."

"What do you mean you can't love him?" Clint demanded, offended on his friend's behalf.

"The bond!" Steve snapped. "I don't get a choice in any of this; of course I'm in love with him! What about my free will, Clint?!"

"What about it?" Clint asked, bewildered. "You chose to bond Bucky. _You_ chose Bucky."

"I didn't mean for it to be like this!"

"Steve. You're making a big deal out of –out of nothing. You love him. He loves you."

"Would I feel this way if I'd never bonded him?"

"I don't know. Why does this matter to you? You love him."

"But was it _my choice_?" Steve demanded.

"Yes! Steve! When was it ever not your choice? Look at you right now. You aren't choosing him, feelings be damned, yours and his. It's your choice! You can stay or you can go. It's always been your choice."

It wasn't that simple, was it? It couldn't be that simple. Then again, it wasn't like he'd chosen to be in love with Bucky. It was the same way he didn't choose to be sad or happy –he either was or he wasn't.

"But –are my feelings for him because of him?" Steve asked quietly. "Or are they because of the bond?"

"Look, Steve, I don't know what got into your head," Clint said gently. "But I was in love with Phil long before the bond. And Phil was in love with me before I bonded him. The bond just allows us to share feelings that already exist –if soul-bonds can do what you're suggesting, then stalkers and lowlifes could force bonds on people. And it doesn't work that way; soul-bonds either work or fail depending on your intentions. Steve, soul-bonds can't make you feel something you don't already feel."

Steve shifted anxiously. "I wasn't in love with Bucky before I bonded him."

"Maybe there was always a spark there, of some possibility," Clint said flippantly. "Or maybe you were destined to save his life, maybe you were supposed to meet him later in life and have an apple pie life together but you ended up here and now. And what matters, is what you're going to do with the time you have right now. What choices you make."

"You can't know that."

"No, I can't," Clint said, with a surprising amount of patience. "But I know what I believe."

"It's my choice that matters," Steve said slowly. "I could love him for the rest of my life and never tell him."

Clint chuckled. "Yeah, I don't recommend that path. Speaking from experience."

Steve smiled at him. "What am I supposed to do, tell him how I feel?" he teased. He could feel his nerves light with fire, spreading through his body. He was nervous.

"Yes you idiot! Go tell him. If that's what you want."

Steve paused, looking searchingly at Clint. "Have you really never wondered? About soul-bonds?"

Clint sighed heavily. "Steve, have you ever wondered why you exist? The universe is full of questions without answers and sometimes the only solution is to choose an answer for you. I decided on mine when I started asking myself those questions. Now it's your turn."

* * *

Steve pressed the buzzer nervously. It was his first time here on his own terms. Clint had given him the address and practically shoved him out of his house with a promise to house-sit until Steve returned –which, predictably, was followed by an eyebrow waggle. It would serve Steve right if he sat out here all night and Bucky never answered. He'd been avoiding him for a week and he'd kept the secret about his medication for longer than he'd intended.

"Barnes' residence," Bucky's voice came over the static-y receiver.

"It's –it's Steve," he said, lamely. He adjusted the bag he was holding uncertainly. What if Bucky didn't want to have anything to do with him now?

"Come on in!" Bucky said.

The door beeped and swung open and Steve headed inside to Bucky's apartment. He stopped outside Bucky's room, knocking politely. Bucky was there in seconds, yanking the door open. There were dark circles under his eyes and his complexion was pale; but the relief that crossed his face was unmistakeable.

"Steve! You're okay. I was getting worried." He smiled apologetically.

Steve smiled awkwardly, lifting up the bag of food in a silent show of apology. He would have a lot more apologies to make over the course of their visit, and maybe the food would help soften the blow. He'd packed up the leftovers of Sam's meal to try and win some good favor.

Bucky took the bag, waving Steve inside as he lifted out the Tupperware container. "Mac and cheese? I'm touched," Bucky said lightly, setting it on his counter.

"Bucky… I'm sorry I've been avoiding you. I've been avoiding everyone."

"So I heard," he said, his tone carefully neutral. He placed the leftovers into his fridge.

Steve stopped, glancing at his friend worriedly. "I didn't mean to worry everyone. And I meant what I said, on the phone, we're fine." He hoped they were still okay.

"Are we?" Bucky demanded, turning around to face him. "Because we were supposed to go for coffee and you never showed, you never even called to say you couldn't make it."

Steve winced. He didn't even remember making the arrangement to meet with Bucky. "I'm sorry."

"Is that all you're gonna say?" Bucky asked, looking at him expectantly. "You're sorry? Or do you have an explanation to go along with it?"

Steve dropped his gaze to his shoes, a pair of runners that were starting to show wear. "It's dumb," he said quietly. "I just. I thought, I thought everything between us was a lie."

"How does my being in love with you affect that?" Bucky demanded incredulously.

Steve winced. "It doesn't. This was all me." This wasn't how he was going to do this. "I realized I felt the same and instead of –instead of telling you, I thought, I thought maybe the bond had caused all of this. I thought my free will was gone, that my choices didn't matter."

He glanced at Bucky reluctantly. The other man was staring at him in disbelief.

"I bonded myself to you," Steve said quietly. "I believed, I _really_ believed, that I'd given up the rights to my own feelings. That I'd surrendered them to you, that being in love with you was because of our bond. Because we'll always be bonded." He paused, the silence weighing heavily between them.

"You what."

Steve ran a hand through his hair anxiously. "I got this idea in my head, okay, that loving you was a product of our soul-bond. Did I choose to bond you that day, or was it all decided before then? I thought if I didn't act on my feelings, that I would be defying fate. I couldn't accept how I felt because I was… because I was scared." He hadn't even realized by doing that he still had free will.

Bucky was still staring at him slack-jawed.

"I'm an idiot! What was I so scared of? I was scared of us. Of you. You've never wanted me before, I don't even know when you fell in love with me –or why! I barely know when I fell in love with you! I thought if I could make another choice, if I could do something, anything else, that it would mean I was in control again." Steve swallowed. "It was dumb. I just."

"You keep –" Bucky started and then stopped. He took a long breath. "You keep using past tense."

"I… Clint came to talk to me." Steve could feel his cheeks heating up and he was doing his best to avoid looking at Bucky. "He told me that by –by not making a choice, I had a choice and then he called me a couple of names and kicked me out of my own house."

Bucky licked his lips slowly, his eyes locked onto Steve's. "I fell in love with you sometime between watching you get your sorry ass handed to you and realizing you had to live with my nightmares. It wasn't like there was a swell of music and I suddenly realized it either, it just happened. Secondly, I love you because you're endlessly patient with me. There's more, I could list them all, but that's –that's what I love most about you."

Steve stared at him. "My –my patience?" he managed to stutter out.

"Yeah," Bucky answered softly. "You must love something about me too."

"You make my bad days better," Steve blurted. "You –you make them better."

Bucky smiled slightly, taking a purposeful step towards him. "Yeah? Well, I'm glad to hear it."

"Bucky," Steve said, that familiar uncertainty creeping back in.

"Steve," Bucky replied playfully, stopping in front of him.

Steve felt his ears redden. "Bucky, I…"

"You…?"

Steve smiled sheepishly. "I'm an idiot?"

"Well I guess that makes you _my_ idiot then," Bucky said, putting his hand on the back of Steve's neck, gently running the pad of his finger across the sensitive skin there.

Steve raised his eyes to Bucky's, but found he was already watching him with quiet intensity. Steve wound his arm around Bucky's back, noticing for the first time the firm muscle beneath his touch. Bucky leaned in, the cool tip of his nose a feather-light touch on Steve's cheek. His lax, slow caress at the base of Steve's neck changed, a light grip, encouraging him until their lips met in a soft caress. They were like two jigsaw pieces pressed together, connected and in sync everywhere they touched. Steve grabbed a fistful of Bucky's shirt, trying to stop his hand from shaking; the press of his lips was intoxicating and Steve wanted more.

Bucky pulled back, the barest space of a breath between them. Steve could feel his heart racing, and he could see color returning to Bucky's cheeks. They were drawn together again, like a string pulled taunt, no longer able to hold back as their lips joined and bodies pressed close. Steve wanted so much more and he'd never realized it until now. Bucky's hand, so much bigger than Steve's, gently glided along his jaw and Steve arched into his touch like a flower straining to taste the sun. Bucky pressed Steve against the countertop, his hips snug against Steve's as they pulled away, breathless.

"We should stop," Bucky murmured, with his eyes half closed as Steve pressed kisses along his jaw.

"We really should," Steve mumbled. "We haven't finished talking yet." Reluctantly, he drew back.

"Yeah, we should probably do that first." Bucky sighed with disappointment.

Steve grinned at the red flush he'd put back in Bucky's complexion, at the content and relaxed expression on his face. _Steve_ had done that. Carefully, he reached up and traced a dark circle beneath Bucky's eye with the pad of his thumb. He hadn't done that too, had he?

"Haven't slept well lately," Bucky murmured in response, taking a step away from Steve.

His hand fell back to his side, empty. "That might be my fault, a little."

"The hero complex thing suits you Steve, but I don't think my nightmares are your problem."

"I've been taking an experimental drug," Steve said. "It can't remove the bond, but it does keep you out of my head." Steve couldn't remember the last time he'd had a nightmare since he'd started taking them.

Bucky closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "So I've been feeling everything more intensely because you aren't taking the brunt of it all. Well, I'm glad it's been working for you."

"I might have to re-evaluate that," Steve admitted. "Without you in my head, your emotions, I've been –of all things –lonely." He missed having Bucky's presence there; having the awareness that there was someone in the world he was tied to. This was a strange thing to say when he'd spent years resenting it.

"Would've been nice to know sooner," Bucky said lightly. "I was starting to worry."

Steve smiled apologetically. "I was going to tell you and then I got caught up in all of this." Or not quite all of this, considering it was the potential of this.

"Do you feel any different now?"

"Like we're meant to be, you mean?"

Bucky rolled his eyes, grinning at him. "Yeah, Steve. You starting to feel how we're _totally_ meant to be forever and ever? I can't believe it's taken you this long to realize –but I am a fantastic kisser and I am even better at cuddling."

Steve laughed. "Really? Well you better prove it because that was subpar kissing at best."

Bucky gasped. "That's a lie and you know it! You were putty in my arms, Rogers –you take it back!"

Steve smirked. "I'll take it back when you prove you're capable of blowing my mind."

"Oh I'll blow you alright," Bucky retorted, low and seductive and it went straight to Steve's groin. Bucky flashed him a cocky grin in retort, like he knew exactly what he was doing to Steve. "I'll prove I'm the best cuddler you've ever been with. Tonight."

That conversation was how they ended up racing to Bucky's bed, laughing like fools in love, determined to prove the other wrong. Despite Bucky's earlier comment and Steve's lingering interest, neither were in a hurry to explore that aspect of their newly changed relationship. Steve ended up cuddled comfortably, surrounded by a warm blanket of Bucky on a too-comfortable bed. He still refused to acknowledge that Bucky was the best cuddler, let alone the fact that he was also a fantastic kisser. Steve wasn't sure if he'd ever been kissed quite so thoroughly in his life, let alone experienced one that left him a little weak in the knees. Not that he minded, not with Bucky.

"Bucky," Steve couldn't help but ask, what felt like hours later, his voice rough with sleep and disuse.

"Mm?" Bucky mumbled sleepily.

"What if…"

"If you finish that sentence, with something to do with us, I'mma have to prove I am more than a fantastic kisser." Bucky didn't sound nearly as tired as he just had.

Steve smiled at the ceiling. "What if we're meant to be?"

Bucky groaned loudly. "Alright Rogers, that's it, you're getting it!"


	17. I'll Hold You Up

Epilogue

Steve smiled to himself as he woke, pressing closer to his fiancé. He pressed his cold feet between Bucky's, feeling his partner jolt at the contact. Steve muffled a laugh, brushing a light kiss over his shaven jaw.

"Steve," Bucky whined, opening an eye to glare half-heartedly at him. "Too early."

Steve smiled innocently. "It's practically ten," he murmured, peppering his smooth jaw with kisses. This close he could still faintly smell the vanilla-and-woodsy blend of Bucky's favorite cologne. "Our wedding's in a few hours."

"No reason to rush," Bucky murmured. "We can make out like a couple of newlyweds and be late to our wedding if we want to." His sleepy grin was infectious.

"We aren't newlyweds just yet," Steve pointed out.

"What's the difference in a few hours?" Bucky murmured, sitting up on his arms.

"Your hair is a disaster," Steve teased, brushing a stray curl from his forehead. "You need the time just to get your hair ready."

Bucky rolled his eyes and pecked him. "You're lucky I love you."

" _Some_ of us don't want to be late to their own wedding," Steve chided, pulling away. "I told you, you should have set an alarm."

Bucky sat up, yawning. "I told you I didn't need one. I've got you for that, babe," he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to Steve.

Steve pulled back, making a face. "Morning breath!"

Bucky grinned at him. "I know you don't care. It's not my fault I don't get up at the crack of dawn to brush my teeth like _somebody_."

Steve raised an eyebrow. "Isn't it exactly that?"

Bucky got up, padding over to his suitcase to pull out a clean pair of underwear. Steve, for his part, admired the view. It was the second best view he'd had all day. Maybe by the end of the day, it would be third best, after he'd seen Bucky in his tux. "Not all of us like waking up before nine, Steve. Especially not on holidays, let alone holiday Sundays."

"You'd sleep your holiday away if I let you," Steve teased, getting off the bed.

"I would," Bucky said brightly, grinning at Steve, "and I'd love every minute of it."

Steve shook his head fondly. "We're going to be late."

"We won't!" Bucky promised, kissing Steve's cheek. "And good luck sneaking out of here without our friends noticing –also, remember if our marriage falls apart, I wasn't the one who decided to break wedding tradition."

"We've already broken almost every tradition known to man, one more won't kill us," Steve said, walking to the door.

People said it was bad luck for grooms to kiss on the eve of their wedding day; well, they'd spent most of last night kissing and then some. Last night had been their joint stag, as neither of them were interested in having a last night of freedom without the other. They'd had about six years too many of not being involved with each other and those had been some rough years. Clint and Sam had agreed to host the party provided both of them swore to keep their lips off –Clint had somehow managed to convince some hotel staff to watch their rooms in order to prevent any liplocking before the big day. It had not been easy sneaking into Bucky's room past the staff, but with a hefty tip and a solemn vow that he was in fact, not Steve Rogers, he was allowed in. Clint was probably going to be pissed, but Steve still remembered what he'd done on his anniversary so he figured they'd be square. Steve had stopped believing in fate and superstition a while back.

Steve crept out of Bucky's room and was wholly not prepared for the round of applause that greeted him. Steve let the door shut behind him with a heavy thud as he turned bright red. Clint, Phil and Sam were waiting for him. Clint had the perfect disappointed mother hen face Steve had ever seen –even if his eyes were a little on the murderous side; Phil at least appeared sleepy and apologetic where Sam's face was pure joy.

"Steve you've doomed your wedding!" Clint said, the disappointed scowl on his face not moving an inch.

"Congrats, I didn't think you had it in you," Sam teased, waggling his eyebrows. "I thought we were gonna find you curled up on your bed in misery at being away from your fiancé for so long."

Phil covered a yawn, somehow managing to look more apologetic. Steve wondered if Clint had dragged Phil out of bed for this confrontation.

"It'll take more that some kissing to doom my wedding, Clint," he explained patiently, electing to ignore Sam's commentary entirely. "I've kissed him enough, I should know by now."

Phil snorted a laugh, neatly sidestepping Clint's lighthearted swipe. "I should hope so," the older man replied, eyes dancing with mirth. "I think you can leave him alone now, you aren't going to get a rise out of him so easy."

Clint deflated, the mother hen act thankfully disappearing with it. "Way to ruin all the fun, Rogers."

"It won't be Rogers for much longer," Sam said gleefully. "Have you guys even decided what it's going to be?"

Steve rolled his eyes, unlocking his hotel room. "No, Sam, we're winging it. Completely and totally –I'll write my name first and then he gets to decide where he's hyphenating."

As Sarah Rogers' only son, there was no way Steve wasn't going to honor his family name. And Bucky, too, was an only son. They'd decided to hyphenate in order to honor their families, although Steve was pretty sure Bucky would have been fine adopting Steve's last name. Neither of them wanted to disappoint George or Winifred, who seemed especially keen on their son carrying the family legacy. During the wedding plan, they hadn't fought over a single thing except for how to hyphenate their surnames. Steve thought it should be Rogers-Barnes and Bucky thought it should be Barnes-Rogers and they'd spent _months_ discussing it. To the point that if Sam, Peggy or Clint were around, the three of them were owed dinner for it. They'd ended up buying about four meals before they kept that discussion behind closed doors and under heavy quilts.

Sam followed him in while Clint headed into Bucky's room and Phil wandered off to get breakfast or more sleep, Steve wasn't sure which. He pulled out his suit and carefully laid it over his perfectly made bed. He hadn't slept a single night on his own since they'd gotten here.

"Steve, before you get dressed," Sam said, reaching into his pocket. "I know this isn't exactly traditional, but I thought…"

Steve turned to him, eyes wide.

"…maybe it was time to make your own tradition?" Sam said, pulling out a small box. He held it towards Steve.

Steve took the box, opening it gingerly. Inside was a pair of silver cufflink-lockets. Steve carefully slid the locket piece open and was surprised to see an elegantly cropped photo of his mother smiling. He checked the other locket and found it was a matching picture of his father's face, one he'd seldom seen.

"Sam," Steve said, awed and overwhelmed, "where did you get these?"

He'd never seen his mother look so young and fierce before. She was baring her teeth at the camera, more like she was growling and snapping at the photographer, strawberry curls pinned back from her face. And he was sure he'd never seen this picture of his father before, dressed casually in a leather jacket, his head tipped to the side and grinning easily. When Steve thought of his father, he only half-remembered a framed photograph that sat at his mother's bedside of a stern man in his military dress.

"I might have talked to some of the locals," Sam said. "Found this nice old couple who could remember a little girl by the name of Sarah and her folks, Sean and Brenna. Apparently your grandparents used to write letters all the time and these photographs got handed down. I made a copy, had them fitted…"

Steve set the cufflinks down delicately before rushing Sam, throwing his arms around his best friend. "Thank you," he whispered, heartfelt.

Sam chuckled. "Does this mean I get to be the best man?" he whispered, teasing. He hugged Steve back.

Steve laughed. "Well I guess you've earned it now," he joked, pulling back. "Thank you Sam."

"Come on, you better hurry and get ready or you'll be the one who's late."

"Bucky'll wait for me," Steve said, pulling his shirt off.

"Well if you're late, I won't, Riley and I've got a wine tasting date down the corner."

Steve snorted. "Figures my fiancé would wait for me, but my best man won't."

Sam laughed. "That's 'cause Bucky's had to wait for you before, and I ain't got time for that."

Getting dressed took twice as long as it otherwise would have, with Sam cracking jokes. Steve put the new cufflinks on, more grateful than he could say that his parents would be with him today. That he would have something of theirs –even if it was just a picture, to bring with him. The blue suit fit him perfectly, accentuating his narrow shoulders and tailoring his waist so it wasn't quite as skinny. He adjusted the silver tie carefully and pinned the white rose to his lapel. Steve combed through his hair quickly, working the gel through his fine hair until it was styled to his liking.

And then, they left his hotel room and started the walk through Rathfarnham. Clint and Sam had supposedly coordinated to make sure neither groom would see each other on the walk over, as though that would be too much for the fragile bonds of their soon-to-be marriage to handle. They'd weathered through miscommunications, misunderstandings, meddling family and an existential crisis to rival all other existential crisis –Steve knew it would take more than seeing his fiancé before the wedding to unravel everything they'd built together.

Steve saw Bucky just as he crested the hill to the small cathedral and his soon-to-be husband was breathtaking. Bucky's navy suit clung to his broad shoulders and arms and he walked with the stride of a powerful man. Definitely the best view he'd had all day. They walked in together, friends and family trailing behind them as they reached the altar. Steve wondered if it was the same church that his grandparents had gotten married in and he touched his mother's cufflink. The church wasn't full by any means, but the people who were with them made it worth everything. Peggy was in the front row, clutching a bouquet in her arms. Beside her, Daniel Sousa had an arm around her. Next to them was Bucky's family –Winifred and George, Rebecca and her husband and Aubree beside them. Tabby and Gideon hadn't been able to make it, between needing to manage the store and their toddler. They'd offered their congratulations and an early wedding present in apology for not being able to make it. Riley waved, a tissue box on his lap, watching them excitedly.

Sam and Riley had gotten married two years ago and they were still madly in love with each other. Peggy and Daniel had gotten married last year and all she'd said on the matter was that it was confidential. They'd renewed their vows in front of their friends and family though and it had been a lovely ceremony. Steve turned his focus back to his fiancé, resisting the urge to touch him. He couldn't wait to be married. Steve was too caught up in watching Bucky, in the emotions blooming between them to really pay attention to the minister's words.

"Do you James Buchanan Barnes take Steven Grant Rogers, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, till death do you part?"

"I do," Bucky said, easing the plain gold band onto Steve's ring finger. He let his touch linger, fingers catching between Steve's before drawing away.

"And do you, Steven Grant Rogers, take James Buchanan Barnes, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, in your free will, till death do you part?"

Steve felt his ears turn red and caught Bucky's cheeky grin along with a smattering of laughter from their friends and family. If there was one thing Bucky would never let Steve live down, it was his own self-doubt. It wasn't a secret between them or their friends.

"I do," Steve replied, sliding Bucky's ring onto his finger.

The minister smiled, closing his book with a quiet thud. "James, Steven, you may now kiss your husband."

Like an elastic band pulled snapping to freedom, Steve kissed his husband with barely restrained passion. He could feel Bucky respond in kind, dipping Steve. Their friends and family whooped and clapped, but Steve was barely aware of them. He'd forgotten that they were even there. His world was narrowed to Bucky's lips, to the throbbing waves of joy washing through their bond. They were married. Ten years to the day when Steve had saved Bucky's life, they were sealing their bond for the world to see.

"I now pronounce you man and man," the minister said, amusement heavy in his voice.

Bucky drew back, pulling Steve up. Steve laughed sheepishly, wrapping his arms around his husband in part to steady himself and partly just because he could.


End file.
